Poor Little Pinkies

My dearest little pinkies
With your tips of  ruby treasure
I know you'll be complaining
Soon  
And screaming your displeasure

Say hello to socks and boots
The weather is the reason
And that pedicure I got you 
Was the last one of the season

You're happiest when you can wriggle freely all the day
But sadly you must kiss goodbye 
To flip flops til next May

You'll moan at being squashed and sore
I'll promise as you groan
Of freedom from your clompy cells
As soon as I get home.

poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!