Shoes, shoes
Shoes that squeak
Down the aisle
Clodhoppers sneak
Ever growing strong and loud
Getting closer to the crowd
My eyes look down upon the feet
They sound so strange in creaky cheek
I see gray shoes hard years have worn
Elephant ankles’ weary mourn
My eyes turn upward to the source
These squeaky shoes have wrought off-course
Ratty clothes, knotty hair
I wonder how she made it here
Until I watch her take a seat
Whip out a book and take retreat
She’s just like me, she wants to read-
The common thread to succeed
3 comments:
Wonderful. The library - my safe haven, too - squeaky or not..!
I like the poem. It reminds me of an old lady I knew decades ago, a church librarian, with hefty legs and sturdy shoes.
What an incredible story you weave. I love the way you look at things and how you mingle words in forms I haven't heard. Just beautiful!
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