The little pink shoes,

left out in the rain.

All covered in mud,

but the color still shone bright.


A little girl must be somewhere,

Looking all over for her little pink shoes.

Her mother must be trying to calm her,

But the girl will not be calm without them.


I go out in the rain and pick up the pink shoes.

I wash all the mud off.

I clean them up just like that little girl would have liked.

If only she were still here.


She must be staring out the window,

watching the drops of rain pound against the concrete.

She must aching to go out and play,

but can’t without her little pink shoes.


Her mom goes to the store and buys the exact same pair.

Same size, same color.

But they aren’t the same, they will never be the same.

Because they aren’t her little pink shoes.