It Socks To Be Me

I am a solo sock mismatched again, Insouciantly sorted out by men. I’m worn and torn, my shelf life so unfair - Old sole cast off without my perfect pair. My oxygen runs low in dampened heat, As all day long I’m wrapped ‘round whiffy feet. A random rip and I am in a flash, Without a second glance, tossed in the trash. Sickly and old in times of dark despair, Not worthy of restorative repair. My significant other stands no chance - Sad story of a sock with lost romance. The only solace in my dim, damp fate Is my intrinsically matching mate. My poignant plea to you, all mighty men - Please never ever sever socks again!