My route to work strewn with the forlorn sight of dead and dying brollies;
Their metal limbs twisted; fallen soldiers not built for the storm.
Return route.
No sign of the brollies. Forgotten and now lost
Like their lives at the cost of their bearers once served behind firing lines,
Riddled with cloudburst.
The storm sleeps, ushered away by a lingering evening mist.
The way is paved for a new dawn.
Their brothers in arms are summoned for service.
Yesterday's survivors strengthen to face the elements once more.
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