Three Times A Sock

Once upon a time I was coaching gymnastics (this is not on infrequent occurrence), and we were discussing the recent (as in in the last few years)  fad of wearing mismatched socks, because my associate was wearing one black ankle sock, and one long striped one. As a result, she was not truly "hip" because the "usual" way to wear mismatched socks is to wear thin, neon colored, ankle socks. I mentioned this to her. She spoke on how it didn't matter, because she wore shoes except at gymnastics. And socks do what socks do, matched or not. I found this to be quite profound. And thus it occurred to me, that a sock is a sock is a sock. Thrice a sock, as it were. Which brings me to this poem:

I am three socks, I know,
For thinking, believing, and for saying so,

In poetry, so filled with literal truth.

But what wise man, would not be a sock,

If he would not deny it so?

For wisdom is but naught
Unless with difference it is fraught.

Through rhyme and prose,
The philosophies of this world doth go,
And I thought that through the verse,
I might fetter this mental dearth.
It seems to be so, as now, I am but two.

Though not quite like Moses,
Who doth suppose that his toeses,
They are roses, I do suppose erroneously.
For I suppose us to be as socks,
and Twice at that.

And as this poetic prose goes on,
I, like a pair  of socks,
So low in the scheme of clothes,
Which was two, am reduced to one.
Only once a sock, and nothing more.
There is but little else for me to do,
But to find a foot on which to dwell.
I think I'll look for Moses',
For I hear they smell well.

(inspired by John Donne: The Triple Fool)

Which seems to conclude my discourse on socks. I seem to have exhausted the supply of sock related issues for the moment, but I do hope that you have the happiness of finding matching socks and wearing socks without holes. May the goblins not steal your socks, neither the left nor the right. May the dryer eat a whole pair instead of just one, and may your feet ever smell of roses.