A small town, let it be,
For the people lived ordinary,
‘C’ was not a revolutionary,
Spent his days in a factory.
Grease was his friend,
Grime was his hand,
He liked to pretend,
That nothing could offend.
A good position he was,
his old mother had a big nose;
To thrust into any place,
And he had two children with a mighty face.
Walking to the way home,
He noticed a Building’s first stones,
The thread was stretched wide and strong,
‘A rich’s mansion’ a thought shone.
Little did he knew that was a showroom,
A shoe showroom,
Near the children’s schoolroom.
Glittering shiny shoes those were,
no wonder who would wear,
He said ‘We people never like shoes, never’.
From a fully grown adult to a child,
Asked for the pride,
That those shoes provide,
His children cried.
A shoe showroom came,
It gave them fame,
It brought a busy train ;
Of corporate and multiple chains.
One thing he wishes he could have done,
Scream when he saw those shoes,
And told ghost resided in them,
For he hated to be a