As the guys all stood straight one row,
from one six eight to one eight O's.
What stood out was a tiny toe,
belonging to a worn out sole.

From seventeen to nineteen as claimed,
long and arduous our journey the same
A story to share from a boy retained
a foot, nine inch that walked him to fame.

Wonder is that, how could you have owned feet that small,
yet able to balance just as well?
I may be one six eight that tall,
but I have with me, small feet that tell,

Stories, albeit nine inch long,
the size three quarter of what's called normal.
That guide me, turn me round, when things go wrong.
Twisting, weaving a whole epic, each time better.

So glad that I have feet the size,
nine inch no more, no one could despise.

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a Valentine,
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out till quarter to three,
Would you still lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'am sixty-four?