Tibia

In the quiet scaffold of the leg,
the tibia stands—slim, yet steadfast—
a column of ivory,
guiding each step with quiet purpose.

Its slender shaft, a polished bone,
runs from knee to ankle,
bearing the weight of every stride,
the rhythm of footfall on pavement.

At its upper end, a broad plateau,
the tibial plateau, cradles the femur,
forming a hinge that swings
like a gate in a garden of motion.

Below, it tapers to the medial malleolus,
that bony knob you feel beneath the skin,
a landmark for the ankle’s subtle dance,
where ligaments whisper and tendons sing.

Though hidden beneath flesh and fibre,
the tibia is the unsung pillar,
the quiet architect of our upright gait,
steady as the British rain that falls
upon the cobblestones of memory.

So here’s to the tibia, that slender stave,
the shin‑bone that carries us forward,
honouring each step with quiet grace,
a true companion in the march of life.