Old Soles

Abandoned in the mudroom
to dry, amidst dripping snow
and mud is our fate.
Hastily shed, we shelter feet
from the snow, and
keep them warm.

Tattered and shabby, laces fraying,
our once-warm pile lining
is matted with dirt.
Stiff crinkled leather,
aches for supple warmth.

Resting in the mudroom
where coldness seeps through
and chills our souls; life pauses.

We are thinner now, with
cracking skin.
Slumping in the mudroom,
huddled together, we shiver,
in anticipation.

Wanted: sturdy, warm feet for broken, old soles.



11/30/2015
         tuc


Line Count: 19

Posting Information ▼

This poem was a "Invalid Item"  contest entry November 29, 2015 and posted here: "My Entry for November"  .It was also featured in "Noticing Newbies Newsletter (December 2, 2015)" .