Me Ol' Boots

We're finally starting to see the snow melt!

So I began digging out the fishing gear to plan for the season soon to open, when I got home from work this evening. A lot of my gear is well-worn, and my wife made a comment or two about some of it. It'll soon be bed time, but there was sad parting with my old hiking boots that I had to write a poem about. Isn't it funny how some stupid simple thing like a pair of boots can bring back so many memories. Here's their story:

ME OL' BOOTS

"Get a whiff of that … those things really reek",
My wife's been groanin' now for weeks,
About me ol' boots … that's rotting in the porch,
I don't want to part with them,
And here she's coming with the torch.

Got 'em from a sales rep, many years ago,
I gave him quite an order, but 'fore he turned to go,
Said, "Pick yourself a pair, anything you like …
You've made my day, my friend …
And I know you like to hike."

"They're the ones!" (he smiled, he'd seen me drool)
He knew I liked the good stuff, a footwear fetish fool,
"I'll send 'em with your order, gratefully with thanks."
And soon I had them in the woods,
On trails and river banks.

That cut was from a sharp rock, that knick was from a tree,
That worn place on the toe's from when I'm on my knee,
With the map and compass, don't wanna get lost …
Me ol' boots never let me down,
I keep tryin' to tell the boss.

She's right, I've always known it, they smell like road-kill in the sun,
And no Odor Eaters made are gonna' stop that hum.
So with a tear of parting, like a good friend moved away,
Me ol' boots went into the trash,
And this ... is one ... sad ... day.