Jungle boots with tread worn thin.

A part of me, a second skin.

They carried me to parts unknown

and never failed to bring me home.

Caked with mud and canvas torn.

They hate polish; they must be worn.

In deserts dry or jungles wet

when huddled ‘neath mosquito nets.

Jungle boots protect my feet

on humid days in searing heat.

In medic’s tent all alone.

Surgeons sawed through flesh and bone.

With laces frayed and eyelets gone.

A jungle boot; returned me home.