Aine's Toes - Poem by Francie Lynch
Aine sits in a big chair,
Her legs stretched and bare;
I'm counting ten wee toes for her,
Toes I love so dear.
They'll lead her from the crib to stairs,
And take her from our care;
Those ten wee toes of hers
Will take her everywhere.
They'll get dirty in the garden
While laughing in the rain;
They'll be her fins
When she swims,
When she sings.
She'll slip them into runners
For a race that lasts life-long;
They'll tap out eighths and quarters
When she sings her songs.
Toes will get cold on the rink
When she plays our game;
I'll rub those toes relentlessly
To warm the ice-cold sting.
They'll occupy heels and pumps
When she plays her game;
But for me those widdle toes of hers
Will always be the same.
Comments about Aine's Toes by Francie Lynch
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye