XI
Is there some place, somewhere
That old socks go to die -
A celestial hosiery heaven,
Or the sock drawer in the sky?
The widowed partner will now lead
A solitary life
For odd socks seldom find another
Husband or wife.
Sometimes a sock will vanish
And I won't see it for years,
But if I throw its mate away
It promptly re-appears.
If socks won't stay together
Until they're both worn through,
I have thought of something
Else that I can do.
I will buy a dozen pairs
Exactly the same;
A flourishing sock commune
Is my eventual aim.
If my breeding programme
Goes as I have planned,
Every year another clutch
Of socks should come to hand.
And if their life is happy
Beneath the skirts and frocks
I hope I'll never need to buy
Another pair of socks.
June 1990
