Shoes

Shoes of my feet,
You are tattered and worn.
You are so out of shape,
And your uppers are torn.

You are so much used,
And your leather is hard.
It now has come time,
For me to discard.

You've footed me well,
And walked many a mile.
On an embankment I've stood,
And shoveled a pile.

Remember...the pond,
When once in autumn.
The depth was unknown,
And I went to the bottom?

Old Shoes...it's a sadness,
That I hardly can hide.
To have you go useless,
And to cast you aside.


E.P. 1908 - 1989