Polished Shoes - Poem by Devanshi Khetarpal
Are grass blades fomented with dew,
A mirror reflection of you,
A cloud etched upon the sky,
A hand waving in the zephyr.
Are an effigy of perfection,
An evidence of your self,
An object of your making.
Are an onerous doing,
The brush may wear out,
And the polish may deplete,
Yet I fancy wearing 'em.
Make me look grand,
I stand out from the rest,
It's akin to a halo on my chief,
It is like walking with the Midas' touch.
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