I wish my feet had calloused soles

I wish my feet had calloused soles,
As tough as strips of air-dried beef,
So I could pace o’er burning coals
And never, never come to grief.
On shingled beach, my sharp-breath moans
Attract the seagull’s mocking eye.
He glances as I hobble by,
Deflated by the smallest stones,
While little children, spades in hand,
Skip lightly o’er the pebbled strand.

And though I search for flat-topped rocks
Whereon to place my tender feet,
I really should wear shoes and socks
To cross this lethal, sandy street.
Too oft I walk o’er shingled shores
And feel each tiny pin-pricked dart
That scoresd its name upon my heart,
While down below the wave-crash roars.
I wish my feet had calloused souls
So I could manage seaside strolls.