I fit in my son’s shoes, though I’m not in the Navy
My hair is receding, not all thick and wavy
Wasn’t long ago that he clomped around in my old boots
His little legs pushing with shoving and scoots
Now he’s a size thirteen just like me
No longer at home, he’s long gone and free
All his life, he’s dreamed of filling my shoes
Growing up, being a man, paying his very own dues
Funny thing though I might fit in his size
He’s gone way beyond in schooling and wise
This little guy’s on a trail that I’ve never known
Blasted like a rocket ever since he left home
Top of his class, king of the hill
Soaring to heights that I never will
I’m not jealous, no not one little bit
Just so proud that my shirt’s about to split
This Navy mans shoes that I slipped on to wear
Brings a smile to this old mans face, along with a tear
As I think of my dad’s shoes now put away for good
And how I’d like one last walk in them if only I could
But his footprints walk on, in the sands of yesteryear
When the next dad tries…his son’s shoes to wear
This poem came about when I slipped Doug’s old running shoes on to work in the yard one Saturday. I just found it amazing to think that they are the same size as mine. The rest of the poem pretty much is self-explanatory.
My hair is receding, not all thick and wavy
Wasn’t long ago that he clomped around in my old boots
His little legs pushing with shoving and scoots
Now he’s a size thirteen just like me
No longer at home, he’s long gone and free
All his life, he’s dreamed of filling my shoes
Growing up, being a man, paying his very own dues
Funny thing though I might fit in his size
He’s gone way beyond in schooling and wise
This little guy’s on a trail that I’ve never known
Blasted like a rocket ever since he left home
Top of his class, king of the hill
Soaring to heights that I never will
I’m not jealous, no not one little bit
Just so proud that my shirt’s about to split
This Navy mans shoes that I slipped on to wear
Brings a smile to this old mans face, along with a tear
As I think of my dad’s shoes now put away for good
And how I’d like one last walk in them if only I could
But his footprints walk on, in the sands of yesteryear
When the next dad tries…his son’s shoes to wear
This poem came about when I slipped Doug’s old running shoes on to work in the yard one Saturday. I just found it amazing to think that they are the same size as mine. The rest of the poem pretty much is self-explanatory.
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