Little Shoes.
Don’t look at me with naïve eyes,
like big splashed pebbles before sun
awaiting the kiss of eternal sea
and laughing curl of children’s toes.
Don’t look to me for all I can defy,
my vanity feigns to hold these years -
for you, who grows, whilst I stay old.
Don’t look back, don’t look ahead,
Don’t look now, don’t look, don’t look!
You’ll know when the moment comes
to race alone cross coarser sand,
towards the tide for running’s sake,
across the marks of necklaced time.
Then, you’ll look at me to say goodbye,
you’ll turn and wave, to face the spray
and I’ll throw away your little shoes.