This is the shoe where poetry lives
It walks with a tap and the occasional hop and skip
But on Mondays it drags a little on the way to the train station
This is the shoe where poetry lives
Ready to throw a kick but inevitably risking a stubbed toe
Harbouring the memory of a break and the months of limp
This is the shoe where poetry lives
Experimenting with an odd sock, denoting a qwerky outlook
And if you were to examine it's sole you'd find an uneven wear
This is the shoe where poetry lives
Grass stained from ventures along less travelled paths
And carrying scuffs from many climbed boundary walls
This is the shoe where poetry lives
And it sits by the back door ready for the next adventure
Silently jealous of the shoe that was claimed by the dog tonight
Where does your poetry live? And have you visited lately?
