English poetry

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A Barefoot Boy

A Barefoot Boy

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



Poem A Barefoot Boy - James Whitcomb Riley