Ode to a Toe

It's COLD up here at last! 14 degrees as I write this. Since I'm still off my foot (theoretically), I'm been trying to get our income tax paperwork together (almost as boring as keeping your foot up). Buried in the paperwork (why is anyone's guess) was the following little ditty that I wrote on one of those trips when the scenery wasn't much to look at. As I recall John was NOT impressed when I tried it on him at the time. But... since it's winter and YOU seem to be inside reading this blog AND a toe is surely part of a foot, I thought I'd give you a chance to read it.

Ode to a Toe

There once was a little fat toe
That lived at the end of the row...
of toes.
Pampered and powdered and painted so fine,
until WHAM, BANG, #!Z!!
The toe lost its place in the line.

What happened to that little fat toe?
It got prodded and poked,
X-rayed and stroked, until finally it spoke.
"Just leave me alone! I'm fine as I am.
I'll get rid of my blue and apply some glue
and live 60 more years without any fear
at the end of the row... of toes."
(If you're from North Dakota, you can add "don'tcha know")