My shoes, torn and tattered shoes.

Oh the places you take me.

I put you on to go out into the world where nature indulges all 5 senses and then you take me back home.

How once you were brand new and milky white.

I still remember the aroma of you straight from the box, as refreshing a scent as that of a desert oasis to a long lost traveler.

How now you are a gray-brown, much like a rain cloud, entrenched in a cycle of perpetuity.

Running, jumping, hurdling through woods and plains and valleys, you carry on.

At times you steam with perspiration; you help me work through to the finish.

You turn to lead boots in the burden of every step forward.

You still tag along for every step back.

Trudging through crunchy, crumbly snow.

Glistening with dew drops on a crisp, spring morning.

Soaking wet after diving into a pool of rain, collecting on a Sunday afternoon.

Your laces droop, showing signs of old age.

Your soles are beginning to rip, beginning to look like the skin of bananas.

You work all day long, only to be kicked aside.

My shoes, torn and tattered shoes