These boots are made for gawking. Where one would expect either sock or hem sprout flowers and stem.
These boots are made for balking. If you bear-lead them through a field of too many a nibbling bun, expect them to hit the petal to the mettle and run!
These boots are made for hawking. Whether February or May or another special time, having free florals afoot is, for many, a sell quite sublime.
These boots are made for flocking. What better harbinger will have butters, birds, and bees congregating in wing than a footful of bouquets emanating essence of spring.
These boots are made for squawking. When ointments and sparadrap cannot relieve one from yelping in pain, homeopathics in original form draw sun’s warmth instead of cold’s rain.
These boots are made for clocking. Some may just time the buds or measure height, but the truly esoteric note temporal tells by leafy angles twixt day and night.
These boots are made for walking. They do not stop and smell the roses even if they are feeling blue. Neither do they in-breathe daisies like so many lazies do. No, these boots are made for unplanting feet—so that their blooms can get an unsilled view. ; )