Ballad of the Socks
Socks – they come in twos,
or so the story goes,
but mine have different views.
It’s as if one chose
the right of a recluse
to freedom, and won’t share it
in ways that others use.
Each sock is a free spirit.
But while one sock pursues
a lonely life, stays single
in the wrong drawer, to lose
itself, and its twin Pringle . . .
another leaves long queues
of the mismatched. I wear it –
to later learn the old news.
Each sock is a free spirit.
These fellows who abuse
the standards of society,
who skulk alone, or choose
in colourful impropriety
each other to amuse . . .
we have to grin and bear it,
and celebrate their hues.
Each sock is a free spirit.
Reader, I say, excuse
the darn lot. Or I swear it,
I wouldn’t be in your shoes.
Each sock is a free spirit.