Many moons ago I wrote a poem and sent it to a select few via e-mail. The poem was about the sorrow felt at parting with a loved one. Thanks to modern technology and Matthew Hanks' ability to save that e-mail, I now get to share it with all of you in this my public forum. The loved one I parted with (and of whom speaketh this poem) was the pair of Havana Joe black leather shoes my Grandmother purchased for me before I left on my mission. I loved those shoes, for they served me extremely well almost the entire duration of my mission. They were made in Spain.
I saw you Spanish shoe,
you were black not blue.
I put you on my foot and said,
"I´ll wear you as I sleep in bed!
I´ll never take you off again!
You are my very new best friend."
You smelled so leathery and fresh,
then you smelled like my foot flesh.
You served me well 2 years less month
and now the pain inside I grunth,
"OOOOOHHH wicked asphalt! Why break my heart?
Why must you tear my shoe apart?"
What once was new, my Spanish shoe,
is now big black mushy Spanish poo.
Never again will I let myself love.
For my tender heart has had enough.
All I can do is sit and cry,
as I bid my Spanish shoe goodbye...
That's the truth. Well, see you all next week when we do this thing again.