Feet

They were last
To leave the womb
Lingering in the safety there

Softly kicking
The fretful air

They took their time
To stand and bear
The burden of

A life

The ever increasing
Heaviness of body

Dressed in fresh
Socks on Sundays
Smoothed into comfort
By the loving stroke
Of a Mother’s hand

And being young
They were swift
And strong
And unconcerned

Running bare
On the hot concrete
Of urban summers

Delighting in the
Tickle-fresh feel
Of the country grass

And many a late night dance

In their ageing
They are tender
Once again

Tired and sore
From wear and tare

Squeezed in the too-tight
Shoes of every fashion

Knotted and gnarled
And twisted

Taking pleasure now
In the bathing of warm water

Resting on the footstool
Of a day and journey’s end