A Private Letter Between Me and My Feet

Dear feet, I feel I need to apologise For all the trouble that I hand you. I walk and run and slip and jump, It’s crazy what you stand through. No wonder you get bald toes, With all the stress that I cause. When all you want is a nice hot bath, Where you can relax and soak your paws. Dear feet, on behalf of science, I feel I need to say sorry. Those names you have of phalange and talus, Should not cause you to worry. If it were up to me I’d give you cool, Funky groovy sorts of labels. Names you’d be proud to say to your mates, On dressing room tables. Dear feet, I know of the nerve endings you have, And how you can help my asthma. Can fix anxiety, headaches and kidneys, Can cure it through my plasma. You use your magical powers, Using that mysterious reflexology, Obviously you’re some sort of freak, A beautiful freak of our human biology. Dear feet, of course I’ll dress you In the warmest, longest cashmere socks. And house you in the toughest boots, Throwing out those old flip flops. I’ll massage you and wash you and Give you the best part of the bed. And from now on, well as much as I can, I’ll be careful where I tread.