Boot Camp
Posted: Sun Mar 30, 2014 8:27 pm
Boot Camp
I took my boots to Boot Camp. They deserved a good vacation.
They'd stood me in good stead as I had tramped across this nation.
Their uppers weren't too uppity. Their soles were down at heel,
And a cold breeze touched my tootsies when I dropped my knee to kneel.
I say that it was camping, but it all seemed pretty posh.
It was elegant and dainty, with no wading splish or splosh.
There were rows of little cottages, and not a tent in sight.
I was confident my boots would rest in comfort through each night.
Indeed, I had a feeling it was all so very sweet,
I'd have a job to ever get my boots back on my feet.
Then there were those ladies' boots with laces long and fine.
My boots would be seduced, I feared, and be no longer mine.
Well, I heard the story later. First there'd been a flying fox,
And my boots had felt quite lost without a pair of feet and socks.
Then they'd all gone hiking down a stony mountain track,
And my boots had fretted somewhat that they never would come back.
The movies in the evening were tedious and old,
And the cottages weren't heated, so the nights were long and cold.
They'd soon run out of polish, and the brushes all were stiff,
And one poor pair of straggling boots had tumbled off a cliff.
The ladies' boots were snobby and did not have much to say,
While the boots who shared their cottage made them nervous, being gay.
The leader boots were bossy, and their tongues were very rough,
And the Boot Camp, all in all, was not much fun, but pretty tough.
So when, at end of week, I went to claim my boots once more
With a feeling of great dread, a sweet surprise lay there in store.
My boots were thrilled to see me, and they made it very plain.
Yes, I took my boots to Boot Camp, but I'll not do it again!
© Stephen Whiteside 30.03.2014
I took my boots to Boot Camp. They deserved a good vacation.
They'd stood me in good stead as I had tramped across this nation.
Their uppers weren't too uppity. Their soles were down at heel,
And a cold breeze touched my tootsies when I dropped my knee to kneel.
I say that it was camping, but it all seemed pretty posh.
It was elegant and dainty, with no wading splish or splosh.
There were rows of little cottages, and not a tent in sight.
I was confident my boots would rest in comfort through each night.
Indeed, I had a feeling it was all so very sweet,
I'd have a job to ever get my boots back on my feet.
Then there were those ladies' boots with laces long and fine.
My boots would be seduced, I feared, and be no longer mine.
Well, I heard the story later. First there'd been a flying fox,
And my boots had felt quite lost without a pair of feet and socks.
Then they'd all gone hiking down a stony mountain track,
And my boots had fretted somewhat that they never would come back.
The movies in the evening were tedious and old,
And the cottages weren't heated, so the nights were long and cold.
They'd soon run out of polish, and the brushes all were stiff,
And one poor pair of straggling boots had tumbled off a cliff.
The ladies' boots were snobby and did not have much to say,
While the boots who shared their cottage made them nervous, being gay.
The leader boots were bossy, and their tongues were very rough,
And the Boot Camp, all in all, was not much fun, but pretty tough.
So when, at end of week, I went to claim my boots once more
With a feeling of great dread, a sweet surprise lay there in store.
My boots were thrilled to see me, and they made it very plain.
Yes, I took my boots to Boot Camp, but I'll not do it again!
© Stephen Whiteside 30.03.2014
sadly I wonder if contemporary young people have any idea of boot mending in the throw away society.
Try bush walking, they will probably like that better.