There's a wonderful brevity
in my relationship with shoes
I know when to need them
And when barefoot, to choose
Like white fluffy carpet
Or a fresh cut lawn
When the dew sticks and rolls
On a bright summer's dawn
But when you need them, they are there
Like over burning hot coals
I don't know how those mystics
Do that barefoot, the fools
As if they dance in volcanoes
Like the one in Dante's Peak
Where James Bond falls in love
With the terminator lady.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem