My feet are hippopatomi,
my toes its teeth and legs.
I toast to them, they're not a spy,
And yet they get the dregs.

I see my big toe whisper to
the ankle of the other.
I sense the other has got to do,
that thing a horse would smother.

Oh biting wind, oh cutting rain,
I don't know why you're here.
The impending doom would be the same,
But still not very dear.

>swith< goes the left toe,
and >swith< goes the right.
Together they attack the snow,
and together they have might.

But there is no snow,
Nope, not today.
There is but rain and blow,
To welcome spring and lead the way.

The big toe of my right foot,
(I still call them my feet).
The big toe of my right foot,
Just cannot feel the beat.

The hippopatomi I call my feet,
Fret over their losses with doubt.
The left big bovine calls down the street,
to poor crocodiles with gout.

"Ahoy!" says it, that it of mine,
"Ahoy!  Look now and see!
"There is no snow, and all is fine,
"Even though you're lookin' at me."

I see it now, it's plain as day,
But it took three days to know it.
My feet are not hippopatimay,
But were just too shy to show it.

----Qarin Van Brink     4/20/88