Those shoes.
She has Dorothy's shoes.
They're not red, they're bright blue.
He noticed them shining.
That wizard did.
They were almost lighting up the sky.
And he spoke one of few rare words.
The wizard said "please kiss me".
She ****** life's nectar,through a subtle plastic straw.
Looking rather impish.
Responded with a lacy tongue.
A delicacy, worth stroking.
And together, they so they tangled.
In a contortion of twisted tongues.
She'd come all the way from was not was.
In her heart of hearts
She was destined for Oz.
She'd tripped over.
She broke the heel on her sparkly blue shoes.
The paparazzi waited in the wings.
Just to ****** a scoop.
An overnight sensation.
The papers said 'twas true.
The wicked witch was dead.
The newer model witch of Oz.
Wore delightful shoes of sparkly blue.
She was the lucky one.
She had a heart, she had a brain.
And a pair of broken shoes.
What a load of cobblers this poem is.
I think she needs to find one, to fix her broken shoe!
(C) Livvi