Gumboots

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Call them gumboots or wellies, be they rubber or plastic
I think they are wonderful, simply fantastic.
I wear them each day when I go to the shed
and only remove them when ready for bed.

No other footwear have I ever owned
For sling-backs or court shoes I never have moaned
They’re lovely for sloshing about in the mire
and I guess I’ll be wearing them when I expire.

Well today, hunky Boris asked me for a date
I’d not had one before, and I thought it just great.
We’re going to go to the Cow Cockies’ Ball
on the tenth of July at Dargaville Town Hall.

Then I started wondering… what shall I wear?
till darling Mum said, “I’ve a ball gown to spare
but what will you wear on your big, splayed out feet?”
I answered, “Don’t panic, my gumboots are neat!

“Your dress is quite long, right down to the ground;
if I squeeze into shoes ‘twill make me hoofbound.
At least with my boots on I won’t feel the cold
and the pieces that show I’ll paint a nice gold.”

The fateful night came and we danced it away.
Though the sun wasn’t shining ‘twas time to ‘make hay’.
Asked Boris, “My dear, what’s that perfume you’re wearing?
It’s making me feel so… incredibly daring.

“It seems to be wafting right up from your toes
like fresh country air, a delight to my nose.”
Course I didn’t tell him, the silly galoot!
The lovely aroma was Eau de Gumboot.
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