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Thursday, 6 August 2009

Why I think socks should get more sympathy

Everyone complains about how easily socks seem to get lost in the wash/dry process. But does anyone ever consider how they feel once separated?

BALLAD OF THE LONELY SOCK


I am a sock, a misplaced sock
And lonesome as can be
‘Cause, darn it, no one knows I’m here
Lying under the apple tree.
Last night I hung there on the line
Beside my matching twin;
A pair of socks in speckled green
Which warmed the feet of Jim.

Then, as the evening sun went down,
The peg which held me fast
Was wrenched away so quickly
That I pinged across the grass.
No time to say a fond goodbye,
Will I be missed?  Who knows?
Now here I languish, damp and cold,
And filled with grief, not toes


If only I had been bright pink,
Not dull and leafy green.
I know there's very little chance
Of ever being seen.
No more to clothe Jim's chilly foot;
Those travellin' days are done.
My life as 'sock' come to an end,
My life as 'mulch' begun.

13 comments:

  1. Oh Fran you've brought a tear to my eye...

    Socks do deserve better.

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  2. Amanda - I really appreciate your emotional response to my deep and meaningful poetry. Tennyson, eat your heart out.

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  3. Thanks, Retired One. I hear the fellow feeling for the lonely sock in your voice there.

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  4. I must admit, I have never looked at life from a sock's perspective before. Thank you, Fran, for broadening my horizons once again.

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  5. I am that sock, that poor green sock
    - not lonely any more!
    Although I live without my mate
    My single life is great,
    No more smelly feet for me
    I have a brand new role
    I am a cosy sleeping bag
    For a fieldmouse and a vole!

    Ok, so my poetry is as bad now as it was when I was at school - but at least the saga has a happy ending?!

    Gill

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  6. All I can say is, who is this Jim with such appalling taste in footwear?

    When I wear socks, they're never green
    My feet in black and white are seen
    Or sometimes grey, or red, or blue
    But never green, and certainly not speckled. Ewww!

    (I never got the hang of scansion)

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  7. I'm sobbing. Poor sock. Thanks Gill for bringing my spirits up again. What an emotional rollercoaster!
    What's really sad? Hanging on to one tiny baby sock hoping its match will turn up (after 3 three years now) so the pair can be stored away with my son's other precious baby clothes in the attic. I save all his clothes (except the ugly ones his grandmother buys) so that one day when I'm old and alone, I'll hobble up the stairs, open the storage bin and live in my memories. If he hasn't had me put away by then.

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  8. That is very sad, CJ. I hope you find the sock one day and that it isn't mulch when you find it.

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  9. This is a story of real "Human Bondage!"
    The socks occassionaly rebel and quietly walk out of the dryer when you're not looking.

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  10. If that's what they do, Count Sneaky, then I no longer feel sympathy for them, and will write another poem called, 'Ballad of the Bad Sock'.

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  11. Nice poem Fran. I feel sorry for that poor sock! There must be millions more like him!

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