This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step?

I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow.

I could be in sneakers as the man  selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day.

I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself.

I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left.

But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful.

I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say.

Where could you be, in that first step?