My mother’s boots are cracked and worn.
The seams are frayed. The soles are stained
From years of loyal labor given. They sit
In the corner–the floor around colored
From water, dirt, and time. When no work is left
That needs be done, they sit in their place–
Silent and forgotten. But when the time for work
Arrives, they are retrieved and put to use.
You never realize how important are a pair of boots
Until they are no longer there when you look.