The Old Shoe
I'm covered in dirt, my laces are knotted,
my soul is worn, my tongue is spotted.
I lie on the closet floor, to far back to be seen,
I'm no longer needed, their are others who make you gleam.
For I am an old shoe, sick and worn,
without you I can not walk, so I lie and mourn.
Copyright © Mike Sacks | Year Posted 2010
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