There Is A Hole in My Sock

One of my socks, hole-less, shown solely for poetic purposes.

There’s a hole in my sock,
Whatever will I do,
How can I walk,
With gum and chew,
Or attempt to talk,
While I’m very blue,
As those who gawk,
At the in Argyles in my shoes,
My socks are bound for dry dock,
The only path to choose,
Though not an angry walk,
I’ll pick another two.

–Richard Lowell Bryant