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,
And wiggle
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.