Your feet beneath my hands

telling me stories from their 92 years

of treading the paths of this Earth.

Of being massaged by pebbles

in the shallows of sub-tropical waters.

Of riding in the wooden stirrups

on your horse across Kentucky.

They whisper of the streets of Calcutta, of Pakistan,

the high seas, Kensington, Cambridge...

Of humble attendance

and pioneering trailblazing.

Of pounding the pavements of protest

for a world where feet can walk equally

alongside paw, claw and hoof.

Of their itching for adventure,

they tell me they’re still plotting

exploration of new terrain,

rich as they are with journeys.

Your feet tell me stories,

my hands are honoured to listen.