Clack, clack go her high heels, <br />As she walks down the highstreet, <br />She has many people to see, <br />And places to go, <br />She doesn't mess around: she means business, <br />Her femininity her strength, <br />And her beauty important. <br />She has many high heels, <br />And everyday she walks in them, <br />She stabs faster than the sharpest stiletto heel, <br />And kicks harder than any brutal man. <br />She can be cruel, <br />But she has other business, <br />To attend to today, <br />And tomorrow she may be your friend, <br />But she has a life to lead, <br />A life of her own design. <br />And she will always walk down the street, <br />In the clack, clack of her high heels, <br />Whether that be in her peach stilettos, <br />Even cherry red or black leather high heeled shoes. <br />You name it: she has it, <br />The long line of her leg rather exotic, <br />Something that only a hot country could create, <br />Like foreign mangos and pineapples, <br />Sweet on the tongue, <br />But not only for the young. <br />Because she reminds him, <br />Of his youth: times when he felt wild and free, <br />And she guides him, <br />Meeting him later today, <br />Because she shall comfort him, <br />And ease his blues, <br />As he kisses her ripe, red mouth, <br />Loving her long legs, and sexy, sexy shoes.<br /><br />Paula Glynn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-clack-clack-of-high-heels/
