There once was a bigfoot whose feet
Were shamefully small and petite,
     So he wore some big shoes,
     But the obvious ruse
Was a silly attempt at deceit.

Lovers by the pen;
both in the love letters I wrote for you
and feeling so trapped inside my own head.

Our laughter –
is a yard for measuring out the depth of love
where you and I planted a garden of our scars.

But I’ll go chasing after you,
even now, like I never once owned you before
twisting all of my memories, like this doorknob.

I’m open to talk; but even more so to listen;
extra extras – alongside a good time of ecstasy
reading up on the all lessons of love, step by step
here I am, standing next to you, with extra feet.

What does a kiss on a soft cheek cost?
A heart?
Laid in her palms
Is that the price?

Or a soul
Should it be
At her feet
Sacrificed?

Or maybe the time that is left
The last breath
The final sigh
In return
For a moment,
For lips to touch?

Tell me
What more should someone offer?
What more will she ask?

For the right
To rest
Two weary pilgrims
My longing lips
on the sacred land
of her cheek?

Pretty pretty,
Why so pretty?
Did I confuse pretty?
Be yourself pretty.

On a foggy dawn, as the socks were drawn,
The toes prepared for battle.
The pinky declared, with lint in his hair,
“We’ll rattle those phalanges’ cattle!”

Big Toe led the charge with mighty arch,
And Second Toe braced his shield.
They clashed in glee on the knobby sea
Of the wrinkly battlefield.

The bunions bellowed, the corns would cry,
While calluses thickened their skins,
And nails like blades in jagged shades
Clattered with fearsome grins.

Then Little Piggy, with shrill wee-wee,
Let loose a mighty squeal:
“I’ve had enough, your stench is rough-
Our truce, let’s make it real!”

So Big Toe sighed and put down his pride,
And Second Toe did too.
The toes all hugged (though they all still bugged),
As feet so often do.

And thus it went, till the socks were spent,
And shoes enclosed their truce.
No more they’d fight in the stinky night-
They’d save it for when they’re loose.

If there's rain in the sky,
Thunder in the clouds,
The we will take our two feet,
A run through these grounds.

If the fields are drenched,
Then let them be,
Wheat will sprout bountiful,
From the fresh water tears of the sky.

They will hear our feet pounding,
Louder than thunder,
Greater than the storm,
Tiocfaidh ár lá!