They said
We were to tip toe through the tulips
Waltz, glide across the dance floor of life
I haven’t a chance
My size twelve feet and three inch toes
Clatter, batter and splatter
Through life’s brambled, grotty hedgerows
Toes are a magnet, for that rusty nail,
Or any broken pipe left on my trail
Oh what use are my toes,
Now I’m no longer hanging upside
Down from branches
They’ve been broken, twisted,
Stomped on hard
Nails that have cracked,
And bleed some more,
Before being shed.
Now I’ve looked at other’s toes,
And seen what toes could be,
All brightly coloured
Polished to a sheen,
Tended to like beautiful topiary
Maybe that’s what I should have done,
Instead of kicking a ball
Clomping cross those tulips
Spent sometime buffing, making them look clean.
But then I’d look
And miss my battle worn scarred tootsies
They may be old, crooked,
And not quite glamour ****
But then they have walked a million,
And will do for a million more.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
They said
We were to tip toe through the tulips
Waltz, glide across the dance floor of life
I haven’t a chance
My size twelve feet and three inch toes
Clatter, batter and splatter
Through life’s brambled, grotty hedgerows
Toes are a magnet, for that rusty nail,
Or any broken pipe left on my trail
Oh what use are my toes,
Now I’m no longer hanging upside
Down from branches
They’ve been broken, twisted,
Stomped on hard
Nails that have cracked,
And bleed some more,
Before being shed.
Now I’ve looked at other’s toes,
And seen what toes could be,
All brightly coloured
Polished to a sheen,
Tended to like beautiful topiary
Maybe that’s what I should have done,
Instead of kicking a ball
Clomping cross those tulips
Spent sometime buffing, making them look clean.
But then I’d look
And miss my battle worn scarred tootsies
They may be old, crooked,
And not quite glamour ****
But then they have walked a million,
And will do for a million more.
A bit of foot humour
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