A LITTLE PINK SHOE

Only a little pink baby shoe,

That is stained and wrinkled and torn,

With a tiny hold where the little pink toe

Peeped out in the days that are gone.

The little pink toe was the "big little pig"

That to market so often would go.

and over and over that legend was told

As I kissed the little pink toe.

"Piggie some more," her red lips would lisp,

And the story and kiss were given

Again and again so happy were we

In motherhood's foretaste of Heaven.

But there came a night, with desolate blight,

When death bore my idol away

And no little toe ever peeps from the shoe,

To be kissed in the same old way.

But my tears have deluged the little pink shoe,

And stained it a deeper stain;

And I long for the touch that would chill me

in death

If it gave my my darling again.

So, when I am dead, lay the little pink shoe

Near my heart that is silent and cold.

And perhaps up above, in the sunlight of love,

I shall kiss the pink toe as of old.

NOTE:  THIS POEM WAS FOUND NEXT TO AN OBITUARY OF A SMALL CHILD.  THE OBITUARY IS TORN AND HARD TO READ.  I WILL WORK TO RESTORE IT.