INNER SOLE

Tongues wagging but without noise.
Even its throat produces not a voice
Always a foot in its mouth see it come undone  
However likes to control how things are run
Sounds as though it would see you off
Yet at tracks the rough too become soft
Collar supports for ahead be graced
With a bounding strength it is laced
To see eyelets no tears to ever be shed
Even if upon its sole you were to tread
It still would not shed a single stitch
Ready to heel on each and every trip