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!
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