(This clogger's take on a Robert Frost classic.)
Whose shoes these are I think I know.
She's left them at the studio.
I'll text her mom to say they're here,
So she's not searching high and low.
My clogging teammates think me odd
To ponder how these shoes have trod
From first dance class to gaining skill;
A student's effort I applaud.
I give the shoes a little shake
To hear the jingle clog taps make
And place them on the table here
To best endure their two-day break.
My own scuffed shoes show clogging's toll
And soon I must replace them whole,
As every basic wears my sole,
As every basic wears my soul.
Do YOU have a favorite poem you would like to see adapted into a Clogging Poetic feature?