Hugo Wilberforce had a gammy leg,
Unkind people said he walked on a peg.
“A peg-leg would slow me down much more!”
“And make walking even more of a chore.”
So said Hugo, picking his teeth,
“What’s up top is important, not underneath.”

“I may be a cripple, but I can still dance,”
So said Hugo, as on a pretty lady he’d advance.
The orchestra playing a Viennese arrangement,
One look at Hugo, it was instant estrangement!
“Woe is me,” thought Hugo all forlorn.
“To be rejected with such arbitrary scorn!”
“And all because I’m not fleet of foot.”
“Because I’m obliged to wear this orthopaedic boot!”

But Hugo was, by no means, a quitter!
“That dance-floor experience gave me the jitter.”
“But I’ll not let it put me out of sorts,”
“Instead, I’ll confine myself to athletic sports!”
So he joined the team of “field and track”,
Foot racing at events, and never looked back.
“Best foot forward!” I always declare,”
“Even though choice of best foot isn’t there.”

As Hugo grew older, he became quite a duffer,
Cantankerous and cranky, fools he’d not suffer.
“When you’re older it’s easier to be less fleet of foot,”
“People don’t expect much from a silly old coot!”
“And if I really don’t want to go out,”
“I can bandage my foot, and say I’ve got gout!”