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My father’s boots

September 24, 2010

In an old crate of woodworm
That’s followed me
For life,
I find his boots –
More than five decades
Since he last wore them.
Boots, not shoes –
Equipped for the world of then.
They are still shining
With the effort he made each day;
The soles are scraped
With the weight of his years.
We don’t wear boots these days,
They take too long to tie,
We need the convenience
Of slip on shoes to ease our way.
I touch the good leather,
The craftsmanship that outlived him.
I’m already older than he was
When last he bent to lace them up,
Their weight in my hands
Brings him close for a moment,
Though he’s always in my heart.
I wrap them carefully
For the future;
I fail to check the size,
Scared that if I tried them on
They might not fit me.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. gerry permalink
    September 24, 2010 9:08 pm

    really beautiful sean.

    I know it’s daft because i’m 52 and my dad is 88 but i am still so scared of losing him. I know how lucky i have been.

    thanks
    Gerry

    • September 24, 2010 9:23 pm

      Thanks Gerry, I appreciate that. It’s weird but the older I get the more I miss him! You got your keys??? S

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