December 9th

Sad news and sad talking

About my boots that were made for walking

They're only fit now for Stephen Hawking

There gone

My old brown boots, they served me well

They'd have a few good stories to tell

They made my feet ache and swell

For too long

They took me up hill and down dale

I bargainly bought them in a sale

Tried to fix them, but to no avail

over souled

For replacement boots I'll have to trawl

No greater boots can I recall

I shall never again walk as tall

Or bold

They were my favourite and most popular

I took them first to see a Cobbler

He said I'd have more luck with an Ostler

Chances were seemingly slim

My lovely old boots of brown leather

He couldn't fix them whatsoever

So we end our lives together

Boots are in the bin