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"

James Whitcomb Riley - A Barefoot Boy