I can’t understand this shortage of socks
At a time like this, a terrible shock.
What recourse do I have, to whom do I appeal
For this bareness that persists from my toe to my heel?
(And O how annoying and O how it rankles
to walk like this with uncovered ankles!)
It’s very apparent, the drawer says to me,
That I have socks in my corner — there, do you see?
No, I say, that is not quite right.
Those are dress socks while I need a rather different type.
Over here! says the trunk, I’ve got what you need!
Every color, every stripe, every fabric, even tweed!
No, good sir, you have not socks but shirts.
You’re quite well intended but aren’t helping my search.
And what of me says the proud closet with anger,
Are these not socks that droop from my hangers?
Closet, I respect that you are literally very neat,
But alas you have nothing that can go on my feet.
Now, roars the laundry basket, I’ve heard quite enough!
Look under these towels, peer under their fluff,
At the clothes that days ago you ought to have folded,
There you’ll find socks, he berated and scolded!
And O what is this, I now happily discover?
But two fabric tubes my two feet to cover.
And the problem thus solved, a moral is disclosed:
If you can’t find your socks, try folding your clothes.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 