Ode to a Vagabond’s Boots
Noble boots–you have served me well
Beneath my callous plodding your double-seams have held.
Every scar and tear that has ripped into your side
You bore them as a fighter bears his battle scars with pride.
Together, as comrades, we marched and we trained
In formation, night and day, through treacherous terrain.
As our heels would pound the ground our soles would grind thin
And as we walked the dust and rocks would drive into our skin.
Even after, the adventures would continue in a brilliant array–
You’d be pitched through sucking mud and soaked in ocean spray,
You’d be frozen rock solid in snow that’s much too deep
To be thawed out by a camp-fire whilst I was sound asleep.
Oh woe to you, boots! You have handled so much pain
Only to be cast aside to flounder in the rain,
For I have unwisely chosen a new set over you,
I had given up on your seasoned hide that has served me oh-so-well
Forgetting our glorious journeys– the fun, the bliss, the hell,
And now, filled with regret, I recall when we first met.
There has never been more a perfect fit, as yet,
Than when my foot slipped into your tender grip
I knew, with you, that I would never trip
And your mighty soles would carry me away
O’er the hills and far, for four years we would stray.
But now your marching days with me are done
Although lost and replaced ye may be, there is none
That will replace all the memories we have won.
R.I.P, dear beloved boots.