Thou truly art a prince amongst pavement prowlers
The duke of the display rack
The archbishop of affordability.
Within thine suedeness thou canst cling
To a vast myriad of feet- male or female
And store within you such a collection of stenches and stinks
That would curdle a christian’s kidneys
But not for thee a vast assemblage of laces and eyeholes
That is the province of the Dr Marten
For thou hast shunned such outward displays
Nor do you travel the path of the sullied sports shoe.
For thou knows downst that route lies only stripes, tongues and lurid logos
No you remain unparalleled
Brogues bow before your brownness
Sandals slither beneath your soft and sensible sole
And the dreary own brand dessert boot
Remains parched around your oasis of ordinariness
No there is no other that can so satisfy
To slide mine feet into your suppleness
To lay hold to thine languid laces
And by nimbly knotting
Secure such a love between foot and footwear
That will deny parting
Until the advent of evening tide
And the beckoning call of my - slippers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem