The little resale shop just around the corner has been there for years <br /> with its collection of un-usual and unique items, cluttering the <br /> display window. The streaks of dust, dirt and cobwebsenhance the view <br /> of the merchandise. <br /> While walking by one day I noticed a pair of shoes all by their lone- <br /> some, just waiting to be sold. My own shoes began to show sign of wear. <br /> I entered the shop as if some higher power was guiding my fact steps. <br /> A little old lady with steel gray hair and deep blue eyes, ask politely, <br /> "may I help you son"? I haven't been called that since my father passed <br /> away some years ago. <br /> I could not believe my ears when I heard my voice saying, " want the <br /> pair of shoes in the window." With grace and dignity she put the shoes <br /> in an old paper sack, with the and nod of her head said, "God bless <br /> you son and come again". <br /> With my newly acquired purchase I hurried home to try on my shoes. <br /> To my amazement, printed in the tongue of the shoes was, the property <br /> of Mr. Sam Smith, my father.<br /><br />Evelyn Block<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-fathers-old-shoes/
