The toenail to the fingernail said,
"You have it really good, I must say,
Never through mucky mud made to tread,
Or puddles wade on a rainy day.
Neatly filed and with colourful paint,
Holding flowers fragrant and pleasant,
Spooning delicacies trite and quaint,
And opening many a present."

The fingernail thought, then did reply,
"You think that I have a better deal,
I run through dirt, catch many a fly,
with ice, burn dipped in a hot meal.
Food and drink, dirt and dust, to me cling,
Struck by a hammer, bitten at will,
While you in dewy grass have a fling,
I would be stained by messy ink spill."

The toenail had nothing more to tell,
It should be happy and cease to whine;
The fingernail grasped that all was well,
For it learned it had something fine.