Leap

This is an ode to my toes.
Everybody knows, I suppose,
Our toes are the last place our blood flows,
The one body part that rarely shows.
And as far has highs-and-lows goes,
We got the snooty-up nose and the humble-down toes.
And so, the poor forgotten toes have their woes.

But my toes know something soul-deep:
A faith glimmer through my veins does seep.
I have places to go, I cannot sleep;
Indeed, I have frosty promises to keep.

My toes are balanced at the starting mound
Anxious, poised for the pistol-shot sound
But let me tell you, they are not hanging around.

My toes
Are the last tissue of certainty to feel the ground
Before I leap.