The swinging shoes they linger
Above the quiet street
Like mid-step messages
That never find their footing
We are too young to ask
The questions they can answer
How do children fly when we are grounded?
What are the workings of the human heart?
Such simplistic realities if we take away the mess
That accompanies our breath and life
For now the shoes dance and touch
Closer to the stars than you and I
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