But no one ceased to look down when they saw me.
Like there was a show on my feet.
Full of despair I wore boot when I went out,
To completely cover my feet.
But still they continued to gawk and gawk more.
And their focus was at my feet.
I tried to ignore all the eyes that peered down,
While the eyes still starred at my feet.
It seemed like billions more eyes were called to see.
They made a side show of my feet.
And nothing I did could stop their approaching,
To get a good look at my feet.
I even gaped at their feet to show them I,
Hated them starring at my feet.
But they seemed not to not my lame attempts,
To end the display of my feet.
I laid awake at night wondering why they,
Persisted to stare at my feet.
Then I decided there was no point at all,
There was nil to see but my feet.
The next day I observed that was not the case,
They didn't just gawk at my feet.
They eyed all around until I came along.
Then everyone gawked at my feet.
I didn't get why they couldn't look around,
Stop concentrating on my feet.
The trees were gorgeous, the landscap was a sight,
But they'd rather gaze at my feet.
I contemplated leaving the place quickly,
Escaping and taking my feet.
But I had obligations and things to do,
And they did not involve my feet.
I went on with my life instead of fleeing,
They went on with eying my feet.
Soon I began to question my sanity,
As they were obsessed with my feet.
My reactions got crazier day by day,
To the acts of loving my feet.
Some days I would scream until I'd lose my voice,
While they were humoured by my feet.
This went on for weeks more until there occurred,
A good thing that would help my feet.
But little did I know that this thing coming,
Could assist myself and my feet.
One day a really short man came to this place,
And he didn't care for my feet.
He walked right by me every single day,
But never looked at my feet.
I didn't know why he never took a peek,
Everyone starred at my feet.
Until one fine day I figured it all out,
Why he didn't stare at my feet.
He was always preoccupied with something,
Couldn't care less for my feet.
He constantly kept mittens on his hands,
Like I kept boots on my feet.
I turned out that people were gawking at his hands,
As they did the same for my feet.
Soon everyone began starring at his hands,
And ceased to look at my feet.
I felt alone at last, in my own privacy,
No one to stare at my feet.
Of course I felt sorry for that poor man out there,
But a least no one looked at my feet.
I heard that man wrote a poem about his hands,
Like I have done with my feet.
I doubt they compare to my carefully prepared,
Verses that tell of my feet.