If Boots Could Talk...

June 17, 2010
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I’m aged with love and mud.
Water stains, teardrops fall down my cheeks.
I’m patient.
I saw you through summer nights.
Through tall grass and empty fields
ringing with the sounds of teenaged voices.
My voice is clear.
It echoes in crowded rooms.
My gift to you is confidence and posture.
Stand up straight for Gods sake.
Sun warmed brown sewn together with strength.
Harsh realities against my thick skin.
The more you’re with me, the better I get.
I only get more perfect with age.
I’m not ruby red slippers,
but click your heels, girl.
I’ll take you where you want to go.

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