A shoe is a boat
floating out to sea.
It walks across an ocean,
clops along the shore,
sails the ground we walk on,
skims across the floor.
A shoe is a one-person schooner,
a left brain and a right.
A shoe traverses mountains.
A shoe with wings takes flight.
A shoe tours the continents,
and tiptoes in the night.
A shoe is an anthropologist's and geographer's delight.
It wanders the halls of history as a witness to our plight.
A shoe can wreak havoc, if thrown with all your might.
A shoe is a seductress with elevated height.
A shoe consorts with peasants,
and, yes, with cabbages and kings.
A shoe protects from pitfalls and ragged jagged things.
In time a shoe wears out,
becomes a tattered remnant of a life.
Its sole, left rudderless, with absent oar,
remains to navigate the shore.
A shoe without a sailor sails the seven seas no more.