You bought us in Summer when we were sparkly new:
brilliant white, shiny bright with a stripe of navy blue.

You took us to netball; you took us to the pool.
We went on an excursion, a casual day at school.

We got a little grimy; we got a little worn,
a scratch on the left heel; one lace was partially torn.

We played in the garden. We trudged on a hike.
We toured around the neighbourhood, pedalling on your bike.

We got a little tawdry; our tread was worn down low,
a scuff here, a mark there; a hole in one toe.

We stomped in muddy puddles. We danced in the rain.
We got a little water-logged. We got a little stained.

As we sit on the backstep, we’re hardly sparkly new.
We’re a muddy sort of brown with a faded stripe of blue.

But if we could have our druthers, I’m sure we’d rather be
nothing more than what we are: your favourite pair of shoes.

Image by Jerzy from Pixabay