Simon Pettigrew was ten,
(In fact close to eleven)
And he purposefully ran about
Without shoes or socks,
Barefoot, one might say.

His mother, who was highly devout,
Would pray
To God in Heaven:
"Lord, please let my son be blessed,
"With feet of steel or iron, lest
"He cut himself on gravel, glass or rocks."

One day as Simon boldly scampered,
Feckless, reckless, unencumbered
By the footwear of his betters,
Suddenly he fell face down!
A startled glance confirmed the cause,
He had not slipped on a shiny floor,
Nor by a tripwire been upset,
Nor had a pothole been his doom,
No, no, his fate was far more gruesome,
For his legs had disappeared below the knee!

"Ha ha ha", chortled God.
"What a fine joke."