Classic Poem

There are things
Feet know
That hands never will:
The exciting
Pounding feel
Of running down a hill;

The soft cool
Prickliness
When feet are bare
Walking in
The summer grass
To most anywhere;

Or dabbling in
Water all
Slip-sliddering through toes—
(Nicer than
Through fingers though why
No one really knows.)

“Toes, tell my
Fingers,” I
Said to them one day,
“Why it's such
Fun just to
Wiggle and play.”

But toes just
Looked at me
Solemn and still.
Oh, there are things
Feet know
That hands NEVER WILL .