oh, curse my heart, so quick to change
like sunshine poured through clouds of rain
and now the stomp of clunking pain
from wooden shoes run through my brain
temptation framed in eyes of blue
and golden strands all pushed askew
and in my heart stirs something new-
the wicked thump of wooden shoes.
deep in that mind, not meant to see
this gross view of my malady
lies something more like clarity,
or wooden shoes from ancient trees.
silent pleasure, quick to prey
on woman’s want and awful days,
and other sordid, old cliches-
wooden shoes now gone astray.
harsh the conflict does arise
of Neptune blue or coffee eyes
and though the thought does mesmerize
wood shoes must now be exorcised.
the wanton wish for other worlds
of dreamy eyes and cherub curls
is just a case of stolen pearls,
the wooden want now come unfurled.
my heart still lies in other hands
weathered not in distant lands,
now crafting ground from tears-turned-sand-
too soft for wooden shoes to stand.