"Little Wooden Shoes"
Little wooden shoes, Oh what story do you tell?
Of a "toe-head" who wore you with pride.
Such tiny feet must surely have fit you
And did tread with unseen sandles at your side.
Now you sit on my third stair landing;
Shout loud with colors bold and bright.
Your protection of what is so tender
And a heritage by identified sight.
A gift to a grandson so special;
From Opa and Oma and your father's birth home.
The land where gardens ever splendor;
For wading and walking on the loam.
Little wooden shoes are you for a party,
For dress-up, a costume fair?
A perfect match with suspenders and knickers;
Red and green socks to add to the flair.
A pose, a picture well taken,
Of times spent in the Earth clogs.
Little boy, a first-born wearing
Little wooden shoes carved from poplar logs.
Scuffed and scarred like the feet that fit you.
Out grown, but longing for time.
To protect a sole from stepping
On unseen things in the mud and the slime.
Little wooden shoes, you could not stretch out
To save this stricken, destined soul.
You could not stave off the wounds
Of the pain that would soon take its toll.
Little wooden shoes, your purpose still lingers
Adorned in bright yellow, red in the fray.
To serve a reminder of pleasure;
Of youth, a carefree bright day.
Young Dutch boy who wore you so proudly.
For family and homeland ne'er forgot.
Now serve us in silence, we will fill you
With hope and the small feet in our thought.
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