We, barefooted little girls,
One with straight locks, one with curls,
Wandered gravel roads so long
Thinking it would make us strong.
We calloused soft skin of our feet
So nothing hurt from underneath,
As if the worst in store for us
Was rock and bramble, thorny brush.
Now pebbles stuck inside my shoe
Always make me think of you.
Perhaps we should have tried as hard
To toughen up our childish hearts.
.
I'd tell them, you know, if they wanted to know. I'd tell them all sorts of things.
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