An old pair of chokkers, With mud in their seams,

 Been worn in pursuit, Of a Travelling mans dreams.

 The laces are worn, And the soles had some wear.

 They’re shaped to the foot, With no room to spare.

 

The leather is cracked, Where they’ve baked in the sun,

But they’ve walked many miles, And sometimes they’ve run...

 They’ve carried him happy. They’ve carried him sad,

They’ve carried him grieving, They’ve carried him mad.

 

They’ve carried him hopeless, All filled with despair,

 They’ve step danced a jig, At Appleby Fair.

They’ve walked down the aisle, When he took him a wife

, They’ve walked for the midwife, To start help birth a new life.....

They’ve walked him out hawking, They’ve helped earn him bread,

 They’ve sat there all empty, While he’s slept in his bed.

 

(c) RD 18.