His boots now stand empty – there by the back door.
His feet will not fill them to go do the chores.
Just one pair of many – worn out and long gone,
Yet his footsteps still echo in our hearts like a song.
His boots weren’t always gleaming – with a spit-polished shine.
The truth is, most often, they were covered with grime.
They climbed on the tractor, they hopped in the truck,
They shared space with shovels digging trenches in muck.
By the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread,
Seemed eternally woven into every boot tread.
His boots traced his pattern – hoeing row after row,
He rose before sunrise, to feel morning’s fresh glow.
Yes, his boots oft sat idle but his feet did not rest.
Boots simply wouldn’t do, when he dressed in his best.
They were frequently traded for dress shoes with laces,
As he went forth to serve, standing firm in holy places.
A good man, a great man, a giant of a guy,
In boots he loved working – a twinkle in his eye.
Many pairs of boots served him throughout his great life,
As his dedicated labors served the Lord, his children, his wife.
Besides boots, his feet were shod with the gospel of peace,
That knowledge sustains us, in the days of our grief.
He thrust in his sickle with all of his might,
Now he’s secured his salvation with all of its light.
Yes, his boots now stand empty, there by the back door,
But his footsteps will linger in our hearts evermore.
In memory of Boyd L. Fugal by Jill Taylor Ringger,
Stake President Mark Ringger’s wife.
Slightly modified by Gail F. Adamson
to “fit” all the Fugal and Sons boot-wearers. 2011