My two grandfathers both wore similar boots,
Laced up tightly and tied around their ankles.
Black heavy boots, habitually worn every day,
Many miles were walked before bedtime hours.
Imprints of the earth’s soil laden into their soles,
The toil of the land engrained into leathery hands.
Journeying between outlying abodes of kith and kin,
Tough old boots knew undulating countryside tracks.
Country men had a particular look in style and attire,
Trousers hitched high with stripey braces held at waist.
One had a white curly moustache and always wore a suit,
Both smoked ceramic pipes, filled with blended tobaccos.
Childhood memories were happy when visiting grandfathers,
They recounted stories which held my awe in great suspense.
In later years, the pairs of boots became vacant and unused,
Grandfathers and their worlds became static and chair bound.
Life no longer required old habits attached to working boots,
Comfy slippers became the uniform of more sedentary years.
©Copyright Eileen T O’Neill 14/01/2015
Poetry Jam Prompt: ‘Shoes or Feet.’