A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play -- <br />For May is here once more, and so is he, -- <br />His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee, <br />And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they: <br />Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array <br />Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me <br />Of woody pathways winding endlessly <br />Along the creek, where even yesterday <br />He plunged his shrinking body -- gasped and shook -- <br />Yet called the water 'warm,' with never lack <br />Of joy. And so, half enviously I look <br />Upon this graceless barefoot and his track, -- <br />His toe stubbed -- ay, his big toe-nail knocked back <br />Like unto the clasp of an old pocketbook.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-barefoot-boy/
