If clothing had its own society,
I think that hats would be at the top of the ladder,
And shoes would be at the bottom.
The hats, of course,
Sit on top of the head,
So they have the most stable lives.
But the shoes, of course,
Are always down in the dirt,
So their lives always poor.
While the hats are enjoying the scenery,
The shoes are always stuck in the mud,
With only worms and beetles for company.
But of these two social standings,
I think we should give more credit,
To those downtrodden shoes.
They’re always the ones,
Who save the feet,
From becoming dirty of injured.
They’re always the ones,
Who have to be the first,
To plunge into the muck and grime.
They’re also the ones,
Who are stained,
With the most blood.
How many shoes,
Have stepped onto a battlefield,
And been completely submerged corpses?
How many shoes,
Have watched a man die,
Right in front of them?
The shoes, you see,
Are the ones that are always in the dirt,
So that the other clothes do not have to be.
Credit the shoes,
For if clothes were living, breathing creatures,
Then they would, perhaps, be the bravest of them all.
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