I remember old yellow boots sitting by the church door.
Left by a man whose spirit was never a bore.
His smile greeted all as a welcoming hello.
Why it had to leave, I’ll never know.
The door seems bare without those shoes.
Now yellow brings back memories that put me in the blues.
His endless love made others feel alive,
Simply knowing him made anyone thrive.
A faded memory of yellow boots and a whiskered smile
inspires me to believe that each second of life is worthwhile.
That old man brought out the best in everyone.
Just because he is gone, doesn't mean his impact is done.
Dusty old yellow boots, hidden away on a shelf
have guided me along the path of becoming a better version of myself.
When there’s a matter of what to do or who to be
an old man smiling is what I see.
Farm muck and mush used to the cover boots like brown rust,
Now they sit somewhere lifelessly, and it seems unjust.
I’m proud that man is part of my roots, and
I pray to God that I never forget those old yellow boots.