Trusty Twos

Shoes (1886) by Vincent van Gogh

Many a weary mile wear the spoor

Of these weathered boots unsure.

But they too bear the beaten brand

Of sod and stone, of the lonely moor.

Drying between my fire and the hoary oak

They call to mind my own kinfolk.

I see their faces in the leather cracks,

In the moonlit clouds, in the birling smoke.

Tomorrow again they will taste the dew

And through strath and storm lead me true.

Perhaps then my hearth will rest

My traveling twins, my trusty twos.


To Stan Thompson, Heaven’s Lone Ranger.

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