I saw a pair of old cork sandals,
Melancholic by the mountain road.
Were they thrown out of a car
As the owner drove by the
Bold rocks and mountainside
Trees?
Did someone
Walk in them for a while,
Then decide that they were
Better off free, and
Continued on their journey
Without support?
Maybe not much
Was there nowadays.
But these sandals were present
In a ditch of dust and dirt and
Fallen pine needles and rocks,
And I can't help but wonder
How the poor things got there;
Their travels over.