The dark mahogany leather
Has dried and cracked
Wrinkled like an elephants hide
With centuries-old dirt
Etched into every crease
Specks of golden ground
Creating patterns, drawing maps
Of all the dusty trails they’ve trodden
Miles born into memories
The brown and yellow laces have frayed
The metal hardware clasps left rusted
The treads worn thin from granite
Scraped and scuffed by ancient stone
These old boots have a story
They’ve traveled countless paths
Time has left its mark and
The boots proudly bear their soles
