The big one holds the firmest grip,
it's job to keep me steady,
and if in fact it's apt to slip,
my second toe is ready.

The third is often left behind,
when one thinks of toes,
because it has no special job,
a truth it always knows.

The fourth is crooked from the first
of many single steps.
I can not help the bones repair
and so crooked it is left.

And on the end of the promenade,
one catches the smallest one,
it's plump and pointless existence
only adding to it's fun.

The little toe is quite amused
when length is pointed out
and even as it's squeezed into shoes
it has not a single doubt
that any toe is bound to be
alone among it's quest
but any toe would not do
for the littlest is the best.