Lonely Socks

A question often pondered

When odd socks depart the scene,

Is where they flew or wandered,

And whether they were clean.

While some the sage’s path do roam.

Others flap in flocks.

Some end up in the Catholic home

For lost and holey socks.

Common to such footwear,

From those soggy laundry batches.

All seek their life to share,

With perfect colour matches.

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