Oh, mouldy shoe, how did you get here?
How did you end up like you are?
You are here before my eyes,
Covered in dirt and shame.

Did someone leave you here to die and suffer?
Did someone neglect you and leave you alone?
Did someone dislike you and leave you to rot?
What is your story? I want to know?

Oh, mouldy shoe, so many mysteries,
So much heartache dwelling within you,
How can you stand it, for the hurt is great?
The hurt that is inside your invisible heart.

I long to know what brought you here today.
What brought you here before me.
So I may attempt to understand the life
That your maker has made you.
The life that is not fun, nor pretty.
The life of hardships and overwhelming hurt.

I long to know, yet I will never.
This mouldy shoe is a mystery,
A mystery that never talks and will never find rest
In the life that is possessed by this shoe,
Lost in its hurt and in its dirt.
The shoe that is scared to speak up,
And never allows its beauty to shine,
Its beauty buried deep in its heart,
Where no one can access it, so deep no one but God can dig it out
Of the graveyard of hurt renting the space
That belongs to the shoe and only to the shoe,
The space that should be a garden and not a graveyard.