Boots Poem by LeFay Beechnut

It was those boots that reeled him in,
down memory lane, lettin' no one in.
Goin' back, early days, to that place—
comes along that slow smile 'cross his face.
Dusty brown, faded out, old leather,
there with him in every weather.

Grandpa had that way of knowin' just what was needed,
his line of gifts till then was undefeated.
Some pardners them two—real fine, real shined, cowboy-tough boots.
Mighty proud, rightly loud, inches glad he nearly grew.


They were tough treaded, unshedded, saddle brown,
handmade, careful laid, handed down.
They were Texas born, tucked and shorn, hardy wear.
Fine designed, real and kind, made him care.


Seasons lived, those boots went everywhere.
Cattle chased, horses lassoed, caught a bear.
Cowboy chores, simple made—even though not real easy.
Outdoor life ain't cake but his boots made it breezy.



They were tough treaded, unshedded, saddle brown,
handmade, careful laid, handed down.
They were Texas born, tucked and shorn, hardy wear.
Fine designed, real and kind, made him care.

High noon fishin', biscuit mixin', tractor fixin'—boots on.
Kool aid sippin', cool shade wishin', blue lake dippin'—boots on.
Twistin' wires, late campfires, guitar strung choirs—shoes gone.
Changin' tires, makin' hires, ridin' tired—shoes gone.
But the boots'll stay—
dust kickin', proud sittin',
likely know the way—
dirt spittin', trail hittin',
home. Come and gone so much—likely know the day.


They were tough treaded, unshedded, saddle brown,
handmade, careful laid, handed down.
They were Texas born, tucked and shorn, hardy wear.
Fine designed, real and kind, made him care.


Now they're in a corner gettin' boreder, gone to rest.
Other boots, other folks came on through—still the best.
Moon's since they sat in stirrups, flanked ponies sides,
noon's since they branded cattle, went for rides.
He's a done cowboy, past those times, long in years.
Retired, helpin' grandkids rein in fears.

Grandson's big day—those boots were handed over.
Some things were gut right—never felt more sober.


They were tough treaded, unshedded, saddle brown,
handmade, careful laid, handed down.
They were Texas born, tucked and shorn, hardy wear.
Fine designed, real and kind, made him care.


Grandpa had that way of knowin' just what was needed,
his line of gifts till then was undefeated.

It was those boots that reeled him in,
down memory lane, lettin' no one in.
Goin' back, early days, to that place—
comes along that slow smile 'cross his face.
Dusty brown, faded out, old leather,
there with him in every weather.


They were tough treaded, unshedded, saddle brown,
handmade, careful laid, handed down.
They were Texas born, tucked and shorn, hardy wear,
Fine designed, real and kind, made him care.