Nature's Like My Moccasins

I've used you for an imaginary millennium

and you've yet to speak a work.

Your two holes in the bottom have found

you water to drink, and my feet fungus to grow.

It's been a daily chore of yours to taxi me around,

standing stoically rooted into the ground,

with nothing to do but scuffle onward

in search of dryer days.

I don't pick up my feet when I walk either

and so I would wonder if you'd hate me; if

I met you beneath the trees under the stars

and I asked you, would you date me?

I think you'd pass my little shoes,

you know too much about me:

my two left feet,

my knack of stomping toes

my inability to keep rhythm.

You know all about me.

So here's an idea!

I'll just keep you forever.

Put you on string around my neck.

You can be a charm, a thing of beauty

to be honored.

Your weather-beaten appearance

will be a testament to your

endurance.