For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
The shortest story still stings like a thorn.
Maybe the baby was never even born,
Or later on became the reason to mourn.
I like to think of things with a twist,
Always positive is the main gist.
Maybe the baby just doesn’t need shoes,
She can fly as easy as snooze,
They moved south where it’s always warm,
Shoes as useful as a locust swarm.
She might have hooves for all I know,
Not feel cold imprinting the snow.
Might be a superhero just like x-men,
Radiate heat and levitate with Zen.
My point is, check your assumption,
Sometimes it’s caused by good old gumption,
Other times it’s just a prejudice of sorts,
To save you from doing mental sports.
Expecting crap does no one good,
Makes you feel much worse than you should.
(The original story is beautiful, though,
With this beauty, stay on your toe.)