A Little Pair of Shoes.
They stand upon my writing desk,
This "little pair of shoes,"
Their russet tops grown so grotesque
And soiled, with daily use.
This "little pair of shoes,"
Their russet tops grown so grotesque
And soiled, with daily use.
On one the buttons all are there,
The other, only one
Remains to tell of feet so fair,
Encased till day was done.
The other, only one
Remains to tell of feet so fair,
Encased till day was done.
Two tiny holes, one in each toe,
Gaze at me as I write,
As if to say, "he did not go,
He's with you day and night."
Gaze at me as I write,
As if to say, "he did not go,
He's with you day and night."
I hear the pattering feet afar,
They echo through my heart;
The old wound opens, and the scar
Stands gaping wide apart.
They echo through my heart;
The old wound opens, and the scar
Stands gaping wide apart.
The hot tears bathe the sore to heal
Hut, Oh, it is so deep,
That naught will cure but death, I feel,
A calm and gentle sleep.
Hut, Oh, it is so deep,
That naught will cure but death, I feel,
A calm and gentle sleep.
—36—
