I saw my print on a weathered tile
And pondered what it meant
My feet had brought me many miles;
Leading me to a future not yet spent
I thought of journeys I would take;
With a man of kind regard
To hold my heart and not to break
The steps and strides I’d always guard
I, at the gentle age of nine
Though that he, being such a man
Would love my footprint on broken tile
And hope to join my journey’s plan
He would want to walk and talk with me
Listening also to that onward call.
He would help me be all that I could be
And watch my step lest I fall
So if I find the man
Who cares to watch my feet
I will make careful a plan
And keep him always close to me.