Ella Toe Head

Just For Fun, Leaving a Mark

Just for fun

Ella Toe Head

On a morning just like any other morning, Ella woke up an got out of bed. She looked in the mirror and screamed! “AHHH! When did I grow toes on my head?”

Ella made her way downstairs. Her mother walked past her and didn’t think twice as she smiled at her daughter and said, “Ella, my dear don’t your toes look nice.”

Ella was quite confused at what her mother had said. She thought to herself, “Toes are not supposed to grow on your head!”

They live on the end of your sweet little feet, hiding in your shoes and under your sheets.

“Maybe Daddy will know about these toes up there. He always has wisdom and insight to share.”

Back upstairs little Ella did creep with her toes on her head and toes on her feet.

Her father was sitting in his chair with a book. And he said to Ella without taking a look.

“Ella my dear what have you done. You grew toes on your head. My, my what fun.”

They laughed and they giggled and they rolled on the floor. And then big brother came bursting through the door.

“Doesn’t anyone else think it is strange,” he said. “That Ella has grown three toes on her head?”

“Cut them off now, make them go away. Ella, toes on your head look weird, I must say.”

Father and mother looked at big brother and said, “We love your sister Ella even with toes on her head.

“Some people are different than you and me. Some are quite tall, others short as can be.

“Some can grow hair while others have none. Some like to walk, others like to run.

“So we love your sister, toes on top and all. Nothing can change that however big or small.

“You see big brother, our love is from God who gives it without fail. And we love you too even though you grew a tail!”


by Mark T. Collins
written in Gatlinburg, TN sometime after having a conversation with Ella’s dad about a dream she had

© 2016 Mark T. Collins All Rights Reserved

Cyrus Maxwell

Just For Fun, Leaving a Mark

Cyrus Maxwell Edited

Cyrus Maxwell

Cyrus Maxwell is a lovely lad.
Even though his breath smells bad.
Garbage for supper then straight on to bed.
In the morning you’d’ve thought his insides were dead.

Cyrus can hardly keep a buddy
’cause his words smell so cruddy.
If you go too far, it might make him yell
and everything in sight will be dead from the smell.

What’s that you say? I exaggerate
this poor boy’s odorous fate?
Well, let me ask you one question right now,
Have you ever been near the rear end of a cow?

Once when he was twelve he gave a speech
on “How to Lengthen Your Reach.”
His arms did not heed his soliliquy
for his toothbrush and paste has yet to meet his teeth.

Poor Cyrus is as sweet as can be
despite the stench ‘hind his cheeks.
Mints can quickly fix his one fatal flaw
until the next time he dines in the rubbish stall.


Mark T. Collins
written in the Veranda at the Rabbit Hole and in the school room at the Rabbit Hole


© 2016 Mark T. Collins All Rights Reserved