My Feet
My feet,
Whose toes refuse to touch the ground,
Of sole crest thick as Ice in a pond on cold sprinkled winter morning,
Have known thorns and spikes,
And winter snow,
And shoes that burn my heels to blisters and scourges, and boil and burn
My bulgy feet
Have come a long way
Passed the river of Sheba
And climbed and crossed and skipped and slipped, and tore and healed
My feet, my precious feet
That have carried me
Tell the story that my freckled aging memory almost forgets!
Whose toes refuse to touch the ground,
Of sole crest thick as Ice in a pond on cold sprinkled winter morning,
Have known thorns and spikes,
And winter snow,
And shoes that burn my heels to blisters and scourges, and boil and burnMy bulgy feet
Have come a long way
Passed the river of Sheba
And climbed and crossed and skipped and slipped, and tore and healed
My feet, my precious feet
That have carried me
Tell the story that my freckled aging memory almost forgets!
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