A pair for each day,
and two for the lake,
Deep within my soles,
And a photograph to take.
They say that the eyes
Are the gate to the soul,
Though the eye of my lens
Proves to serve the same role.
Deep within the archives
Of my dresser drawer,
One for each foot
And some for the floor.
Worn every day
Without even thinking,
The camera I wear
Captures antelope drinking.
I always try not
To submerge them in water,
And when they grow old,
They’re passed on – son or daughter?
I step where my foot walks,
And their footsteps follow.
The wandering willow
And in its old hollow,
The flash of my camera
Captures what I can’t see,
And although it’s been captured
It’s totally free.
And the eyes staring back
Into the eye of my lens,
Remind me a bit
Of man’s best friend’s.
And if I am made
To say an early farewell,
I will do what I must
But I mustn’t dwell
On the past that we’ve shared
Or the death from old age.
I must always remember
That the whole world’s a stage.
And so when they die
I don’t know what I’ll do,
Except put on another,
And slide it into my shoe.
Because just like socks
You can’t have too many,
And as for alternatives;
There aren’t any.
Because they were made
To be worn on a journey,
They go everywhere
From clouds to deep sea.
I will always pack them,
Wherever I go,
Because just like socks,
Cameras are always apropos.