To hang upon my wall
Over rolling hills and in the valley of your spine
My fingers walk tall
Thine ears would make the perfect shell
For some sea-faring beast
I pour in silvery sands, grains of deepest love
And upon pearls, I feast
Wither wouldst thy feet take me
Over bridges, with wings?
Or tunnel through your heaving chest
To feel where your heart sings?
Perhaps, my love, it is my feet, my back, my heart
That will carry you
For in troubled times the pairs of footprints
Rarely number two.