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Old shoes old shoes I thought you were dead
Beside the wooden door there you rest
You were ignored, shunned and treated like a rat

You lived in many cities
You witnessed many conflicts
Green, black, checkered or white
Old shoes you bring back forgotten memories

The future looks grey
Do we live for the moment?
The dead will remain dead
Old shoes you shall live again

Hands wrinkled from the scrubbing
The cleaning the bleaching the sweating
Restoration is an art like everything else
Do I do it exceptionally well?

A miracle, a recovery, old shoes you are clean!
Not as pure as a newborn baby but old shoes smile again

Dog-eaten up shoes my lovers I grieve for you
Shoes like cats can die nine times
Old shoes old shoes let's start afresh again

old shoes old shoes,
where are thy laces?

they are in the washing machine :)
wah, u personally clean them all??? what did you use! i cleaned my white shoe once and it became yellowish. :(
i used dish washer detergent with a silver scrub. CHeap and good :) but lots of work la:)
don't tell me you've cooked a pot of bah kut teh as well!! ;P
Old shoes - this poem is meant to be a metaphor. I am just saying that we should treasure what we have, what we will have, and meant all the broken bridges :)
dying is an art like everything else? ;)


am trying to write more so i can develop a short film :)
^^ wait ...wait...come let me try to add on to your work above!

Old shoes old shoes, you got your spark back again, why not hit the dance floors and live life again? Bridges mended bring forth a new vista. Onwards in reflection could result in a directional array. Old shoes old shoes live life once again.

Mr N
You're a very good writer :) I always know that!
you sweet.... tehehe ^^