Pulling it out I see a drawer of single socks;
pairs parted when new uses were employed.
Here's a wool one loaded with keyless locks,
and one with countless keys makes me annoyed.
I see a sock, now cat toy, is a hit;
there's another sitting by the stove.
My reindeer sock is now an oven mitt,
seems like one into the fish tank dove.
Here's a sock that covers a golf club head,
while two others have become puppet folk;
there's a sock out in the gutter, dead;
this drawer of single socks is just no joke.
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