Boots

Boots...standing in the corner,
Johnny left them there.
He went to dig a tunnel,
And scuffers...he did wear.

Scampering, scampering to the meadow,
He was ten...you see.
Going to those customed places,
Where he ever longed to be.

Through the marshland he went winging,
Where the birds sit in to sing.
Where the wide and open spaces,
Set the bellfrey-bell to ring.

Sunset now...was in the distance,
He was homeward bound and free.
When an outward sweep of water,
Bore him out to sea.

No one knew just what had happened,
Only that it was the tide.
Years have passed...the boots have waited,
Knowing only...that he died.


E.P. 1908 - 1989