A small dusty town down in Texas,
a boot shop I nearly passed by,
a new pair of boots in the window,
I thought I would give 'em a try.

While waitin' the owner's return soon
a bootblack had shown me a chair,
inquirin' while I was just waitin'
could he give a shine to my pair.

With nuthin' to do for the moment
I nodded and said,"Go ahead.
They're old and they're worn and the leather
is thin as the hair on my head."

He laughed at my passin' remarks then,
I don't think that he disagreed,
he wiped off the dust of a lifetime
to see what them old boots would need.

He started by cleanin' the leather,
some sort of soap I suppose,
a mixture that foamed to a lather
applied from the top to the toe.

Then after the cleanin' was done with
another soft soap was applied,
them old leather uppers felt softer
and I felt new life from inside.

Then on went a new rub of polish,
not with a brush but by hand,
I'm tellin' you now it was somethin'
the care and the touch of that man.

A cloth with a "Pop" for the shinin',
a heel and sole dressin' to close,
I sat there in awe for a moment
before he backed off and I rose.

The owner returned at that moment
regrettin' that he had been gone,
he asked if I wanted some boots then,
"Yes sir. Just the ones I got on."

A small dusty town down in Texas,
a boot shop I nearly passed by,
a lesson I learned from a bootblack
I'll carry the rest of my life.

(A special note to Rod Nichols: Many, many thanks for all the poems you've given us over the years. There will always be room for one more.)

• When ya visit Rod Nichol's three pages-o-poetry over at www.cowboypoetry.com, ya get to read his "Lariat Laureate" award winning poem "Rooster" ...and be sure not to miss readin' Mr. Nichol's special holiday poem dedicated to the memory of fellow bootnik poet, Bob E. Lewis.