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.

Comments

  1. Brilliant Sulk6/8/09 16:18

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

    Socks do deserve better.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The Retired One6/8/09 17:50

    Adorable poem!
    Loved it!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Fran Hill7/8/09 03:53

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

    ReplyDelete
  4. Fran Hill7/8/09 03:55

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

    ReplyDelete
  5. Lesley7/8/09 04:17

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

    ReplyDelete
  6. Fran Hill7/8/09 04:42

    My pleasure, Lesley!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Gill_Ruth7/8/09 07:26

    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

    ReplyDelete
  8. Anonymous7/8/09 08:50

    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)

    ReplyDelete
  9. C.J. Keller8/8/09 09:53

    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.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Fran Hill8/8/09 10:56

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

    ReplyDelete
  11. COUNT SNEAKY9/8/09 15:14

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

    ReplyDelete
  12. Fran Hill10/8/09 10:06

    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'.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Naomi15/8/09 08:38

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

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reasons why Fran is desperately in search of earbuds

Image
My try-to-get-fitter walk in the fields today was a silent one. I usually listen to the radio through earphones but have lost one of the soft earbuds and nothing spoils a walk more than having hard plastic nudging up against your fragile tympanic membrane. The BBC's  'Woman's Hour' is a brilliant programme but loyalty has limits.  It was disconcerting, walking in silence. Listening to radio distracts from the disturbing reality that my legs are propelling me in forward motion because, if I think too hard about this, I frighten myself.  Today, while walking, I had to listen to my own thoughts.  And now I've listened to my own thoughts, I remember why I like radio better. The inside of my head is like a wastepaper basket.   Be grateful that I only offer you a brief excerpt.  Oh, look, that bird is - / Where did I put that mark scheme. I'll need it for - / My shoes are getting muddier./ Maybe mash with the fish tonight / really muddy / The trees are definitely more
Read more

Evidence that we don't always have the right words to say at the right time

Image
The Younger Daughter was reminding me about how, when she's just accidentally burned herself and is hopping up and down in the kitchen, my instant response is 'Careful, that's hot!'  Or when she's just tripped up a step, that's the time I choose to say, 'Watch yourself!' That's me.  Eager to be helpful.  Caring Parent of the Year. But it's instinctive, isn't it, to say something completely inadequate in the face of crisis?  It's a strange feature of the way we communicate sympathy.  What about the following situations ... When someone's fallen over and is lying flat on their face, we say: 'Oh, no, are you o kay ?' When someone's just set off down the road to the shops, then lets themselves back in five minutes later, cursing and stomping, we say: 'Did you forget something?' When we come across someone sobbing their hearts out .... ..... we say things like, 'Is something the matter?' To the
Read more

More evidence that the wrong consonant makes all the difference to a famous book title

Image
More typo-lit, one of my favourite genres: To Kilt a Mockingbird - a tale set in the Southern States of America in which a young family move into the area from Aberdeen.  The children are found dressing the local wildlife in tartan and have to be taught that clothing innocent victims in bright material is not acceptable.  The little girl (Scot) says, 'Shoot, Pa, that's the darndest thing I ever did hear!' and there is surprise all round at her adoption of the local dialect in such a short time. To Kiln a Mockingbird - a tale set in the Southern States of America in which a wise father teaches his children that to put an innocent bird into a red-hot oven, converting it into an attractive china piece for the kitchen, was bound to upset Aunt Alexandra when given as a birthday present, and if this was indeed their intention, they deserved a whipping.   They don't get the whipping; the father can't stand Aunt Alexandra either. To Bill a Mockingbird - a tale set
Read more