He always used to wear those yellow workboots.
Their bright hue now faded and worn, yet sturdy.
The chatter they made as he walked a familiar sound.
Teamed with light blue combat jeans, a perfect fusion.
He had a smile on his face as he walked in them,
Like they were old friends, companions on his journey.
They never squeaked or creaked with age,
Instead, their movements grew more graceful as they aged.
He must have walked millions of steps in them.
Seemingly more confident with each sleek movement.
The last time I saw them, they were ancient yet sprightly,
As if the passage of time of the destinations they reached
Gathered momentum, as if on a mission,
One that would determine the course of his existence.
When I last saw him, he was still smiling.
He was to embark on a special journey.
One from which he'd never return.
Yet all I remember is his smile
As he walked in them
On last time.
(c) NZ 2009.