Soctopus was fluffy, soft with black and yellow stripes.
Abandoned on a playing field he sorely missed his wife.
She matched him to perfection, even though that woolly hose
was lazy, hiding in the drawer. He named her Coma-toes.
But now he would give anything to feel her sole again.
He couldn’t comprehend the fact he’d been left in the rain.
Not only that, he’d been squashed flat with pure brutality
when one old man mistook him for an angry, giant bee.
The day had started out OK. The two paired well on Mister.
But after hours of football Mister found he had a blister.
Both Soctopus and Coma-toes were stripped off for inspection.
Then one retrieved, but Soctopus was missed in the distraction.
So now he lay, alone and lost, soaked through from heel to toe,
so many feet from home and not a clue which way to go.
He upped and hopped along the street and hoped the way was true.
Good job he’d practised many times, though that was in a shoe.
Oh, how he shivered, wintry cold. He longed for his abode,
when suddenly he stood stock-still. There, hopping up the road
was Coma-toes with Mister. These were lucky socks, quite rare,
so Mister was determined to reclaim the fluffy pair.
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