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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - The Poor Little Toe
Work rating: Medium

I am all tired out, said the mouth, with a pout,
I am all tired out with talk.
Just wait, said the knee, till you`re lame as you can be—
And then have to walk—walk—walk.


My work, said the hand, is the hardest in the land.
Nay, mine is harder yet, said the brain;
When you toil, said the eye, as steadily as I,
O then you`ll have reason to complain.


Then a voice, faint and low, of the poor little toe
Spoke out in the dark with a wail:
It is seldom I complain, but you all will bear your pain
With more patience if you hearken to my tale.


I`m the youngest of five, and the others live and thrive,
They are cared for, and considered and admired.
I am overlooked and snubbed, I am pushed upon and rubbed,
I am always sick and ailing, sore and tired.


But I carry all the weight of the body, small or great,
Yet no one ever praises what I do;
I am always in the way, and `tis I who have to pay
For the folly and the pride of all of you.


Then the mouth and the brain and the hand said, `tis plain
Though troubled be our lives with woe,
The hardest lot of all, does certainly befall
The poor little, humble little toe,
The snubbed little, rubbed little toe.
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