‘With Socks’
With my socks on –
even if they are not on show –
I know
that no harm can come to me:
They give me superhuman powers.
They also stay fresh for hours,
and help cushion my feet from the pound of the road.
Ancient Britons, all painted in woad, wore socks.
The Testament Shepherds tending their sheep wore them, too.
People have worn socks from Aberdeen to Crewe
with never a toe
Peeking through.
Socks with holes in can be darned:
but, wearing them like that can be uncomfortable – you have been warned.
It’s debatable
as to whether they should match
or mismatch;
through choice or perchance;
the populace lends it’s voice
to the swelling debate
of ‘wear what you find!’,
or ‘find one sock’s mate!’
It is said that socks are monogamous,
they pair up for life:
but, this theory has been disproved,
a sock can have many a husband
or many a wife;
and outrage at a mixed-sock marriage
is rather passé, you see;
anyway, it makes no difference
to a non-socksist, like me.
