“Barefoot,” Friend, Aug. 1992, 34
To the fields I love to go,
Where spring green grass tickles each toe.
It’s wonderful the way it feels
Under my soles and around my heels.
The nicest part about the sea
Is feet beneath it, wriggling free.
So in the soft white sand I sit,
My toes deep-buried, loving it.
And when it rains, the mud is far,
Far better than the puddles are.
All squishy-squash and squelch it goes,
Up and down between my toes.
Whether in the grass, the sand, the sea,
My feet are happy—just like me!
No shoes upon them, brown and bare,