Taking a walk, your bare feet.

Cutting up on rocks, sticks, and concrete.

Slip off my shoes and let you wear mine.

It’s okay that you’re nine years younger,

Almost nine sizes smaller.

Because it’s the thought that counts.

But one thing I will never do,

Is let you walk around in my shoes.

The shoes that have carried me

Worn by hurting, worn by pain.

The shoes that have been tattered

From thorns every day.

Those shoes are like a responsibility.

Too much for you to handle.

Maybe wait ’til you’re older like me.

I’m not saying you can’t bear it,

I’m just saying it’s not time.

But I assure you, someday,

You’ll walk in shoes

Just like mine.