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.