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When my shoes come off at night                         And should sleep beneath my bed,

They don’t just rest but start to dream

     Of somewhere else instead.

 

They dream of places that they’ve been,

     And of things they’ve seen and done,

And they patter up and down all night

      And seem to have such fun.     

 

They dream of walking over hills

      With winding roads ahead,

And when I wake, all fresh next day,

     They’re tired beneath my bed.

 

They’re glad today I go to school,

      Where ‘neath my desk they’ll rest,

But, going home to dream again,

      Is what my shoes like best.

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