The Democratic Leader

A Little Shoe.

Thar ain't much poetry, that's a fact,

In a pa'r of worn out shoes.

But I've seen things agoing thar lacked

As much of soul, or the muse.

I've got a shoe 'bout's big as my thumb,

All gone at the heel and toe.

That makes my poor old heartstrings thrum

To the tune of "Long Ago"

Twas the shoe of a little baby boy

Who was all the world to me.

He came, and went, and tuck all the joy

That ever I reckon to see

The mother who bore him went along.

And it broke my heart in two.

Sometimes I hear her lullaby song.

When holding the tiny shoe.

And I hear the patter of wee small feet.

That fitted it when it was new,

But all that's left is the memory sweet

And the little worn out shoe

Thar ain't no poetry much in this

But I think I've got the clue

To a road that leads to a mite of bliss,

If I follow that baby shoe.

—Will Vicher