Having flat feet is a terrible ordeal,
Finding shoes that fit is hard to do.
It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,
And as scarce as hen’s teeth, too.
Shoemakers do not seem to understand,
Producing ballet shoes, which is just plain mean.
For when I try on those cute little numbers,
The pain produces a harrowing scream.
I am not complaining to God for how He made me,
That I am wonderfully made is still true.
Yet, I wish that I had been born with feet
That fit a multitude of pretty shoes.