THE OLD CARPET

I'm stepped upon by every foot,
My pattern's not quite plain,
but what do you expect with chimney soot,
and an odd tea and coffee stain.

There's a patch that's wearing by the door,
my edge is slowly getting frayed,
I get no warmth from the tiled floor,
sometimes I wish that in the shop I'd stayed.

But once when I was very new,
no one was allowed into my room,
they used to groom me too,
but I'll be useless very soon.

© D.G. Phillips