A bunion forms, a bony bump, Upon the toe’s soft arch and hump. At first, it hides, so small and shy, Yet grows in pain as days drift by.
It starts when bones begin to shift, The big toe’s angle starts to lift; And thus it leans, a telltale sign, Toward the next in slanted line.
Because of shoes so tight and narrow, The pain begins—a pointed arrow. Or sometimes genes, by nature’s hand, Decide that bunions are your brand.
Moreover, age can lend its share, With time, the toes wear down with care. In some, arthritis plays a role, While high heels too can take their toll.
And as the bunion grows and swells, The joint may ache like pealing bells. The skin turns red, becomes inflamed, With callused pads that bear the blame.
In seeking ease, one finds relief Through wider shoes that dull the grief. Moreover, ice can numb the pain, And cushioned inserts soothe again.
But sometimes when the pain persists, Despite these aids and all assists, Surgery calls, a final plea, To realign and set it free.
Thus, bunions form and slow us down, But steps to heal need not bring frowns. For though they ache and sorely bind, Each careful step brings peace in kind.
