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Poor Judgement



























To judge my good mate Nigel

Not something I would choose

So why then would I ever walk

A mile in his old shoes

And yet one day in April

It seems I did just that

Not what I had intended

I felt a foolish prat

The day before we'd walked along

Through mud and pouring rain

That night our boots were waterlogged

It really was a pain

We put them in a warm place

And hoped that they would dry

So settled down to have a drink

And tuck in to steak pie

But somehow in the morning

Our boots had been switched round

We didn't feel a difference

When our feet hit the ground

Throughout the day the miles unrolled

It didn’t seem that far

In fact was more like twelve we walked

'Fore taxi back to car

The next day I was resting

My toes were feeling fine

Then Nigel rang - said check your boots

I think you'll find they're mine

The moral is quite simple

When choosing friends it's wise

Make sure if you go walking

Their feet are similar size.

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