Typically you

The impulse to throw it in the ditch,
But the hope that it may fight back the clouds;
Or the sunshine, even, in the next stop.
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
The chances I may regret if I leave it here,
And the fear that I may not rejoice the colors semi-circled after;
Or the shade, even, in the next turn.
The umbrellas that don’t open when it rains;
Or when it shines, even.
Typically YOU.