The woe of every morn,
After I don
My attire for the day,
Is that somehow
The rush of hurried time,
And all frenetic enthusiasm
To shoot out the door
Stop
And slow down
When I look at the floor.
There they lie,
A pair in leather,
Standing together
Waiting to swallow my feet.
It would have been easier
If my shoes had no laces.
It would save me the struggle
After my battle with my socks.
The tubular articles pose much trauma.
Putting one on takes unending aeons,
Putting both on, and time stands still.
I’m however still not standing.
And finally my drama comes to an end.
The laces are tied and I look forward again
To humbly bend
When
I begin anew
Another ordeal of sock and shoe.
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