The costly forestry boots our kid insisted

Warmed your twisted feet in the afterlife

Didn’t worry me in the slightest;

For you it was never about the price.

It wasn’t your trainers which strained my heart,

Or the leather uppers kicking me in the guts,

not the steel toe caps breaking through healed scars.

Or even rubber wellies wading through the tears.

No slippered reminder of evening hours,

No sandals citing slipped away summers

No flimsy plimsolls linger to tease me,

Frivolous footwear was never your thing.

Parting with the wrinkled fur lined riggers

feeling they would never again figure

in future footsteps left no aching

sole felt sore as I saw them departing.

It’s knowing the old stiff soled walking boots,

Laces flattened under hooks, tongue lolling;

Still in the tread - dried dirt from lakeside routes

… will not walk again over cold Helvellyn.