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The sock’s a sneak; the sock is sly – a deep-dyed rascal, he;
bit of a heel – a slippery soul; footloose and fancy free...
He works in pairs (respectably), but should the bubble burst
& he’s washed up, his partner flees... their union is curst.
Where do they go, these single socks? – why are we left with one?
Acrylic, cotton, viscose, wool... all bound for single fun.
They go in for a Hotpoint wash – it’s like an anti-church:
where two go in, just one comes out, abandoned, in the lurch.
Should we create a Facebook page where all odd socks can meet? -
matchmaking for each single sock; oh! trend-defying feat...