My long umbrella
waits by the door,
standing tall and quiet
like a loyal friend.

When clouds gather
with heavy footsteps
and raindrops whisper,
“It’s time,”
I reach for it—
and it happily opens
like a smile in the storm.

Under its wide canopy,
the world feels softer.
The rain dances all around me,
but not a single drop
dares to touch my head.

My long umbrella
is more than cloth and metal—
it is a tiny roof
I can carry anywhere.
A traveler’s shelter,
a dreamer’s shield,
a moving shade of comfort.

Sometimes the wind
tries to push it away,
but it bends bravely,
never giving up,
holding its shape
like a knight with a shield.

Children laugh
as I walk by,
calling it
“the walking tent.”
And truly,
when the rain falls heavily,
it becomes my little house
for a moment.

When the skies clear
and sunlight returns,
I fold it gently—
because even heroes
need to rest.

My long umbrella
leans again by the door,
quiet and faithful,
waiting for the next adventure—
the next cloud,
the next storm,
the next journey
we will take together.