Boots

My boots they needed polish. It was shine they wouldn’t get.

My mind it drifted off somewhere, I was in Bali or Tibet.

There was a woman in some sandals. Her hair was wet and black.

She smiled and looked friendly, then my memory it went back.

To that time I was barefooted, so hot that I had to run.

There was sand and sea and hopes and dreams and life had just begun.

Now I’m washing dishes and packing lunches for her school.

Funny how it all worked out, a life so sweet and far from cruel.

Dennis Mantin

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