The shoe

“I am not a clog from old Amsterdam,
A slim patent leather from Italy.
In fact, I’m not terribly sure who I am,”
The world-weary footwear thought bitterly.

“I am not a boot from the town of Beirut,
Nor a brogue from the Siwa Oasis.
The shoes that I meet on the well-trodden street
Think I’m not fit to tie up their laces

“Always I must roam, trying to seek out a home,
My sole’s in a restless condition.
I constantly feel that I’ve no time to heel
But I have to continue my mission.

“From the great Russian Steps to the Golden Gait Bridge,
The corns and the chilblains accrue,
But I just give a chuckle when I feel I might buckle,
For I am the Wandering Shoe.”