Another Wonder of the World
Something exists that doesn’t adore socks
That makes them disappear without a trace
And hides their woolen partners in the night;
And leaves a cohort, upon the icy floor.
The work of thieves is something else:
It can be explained by simple greediness
Why they have stolen things, the this and that
Of ordinary possessions acquired,
To feed their starving brood. The sock I mean,
No one has seen it leave, or heard it leave,
But at week’s laundry time-we find it gone.
Vanished, a UFO without the slightest hint.
Perhaps the answer, never clear, lies deep
Within mysterious air like
Aliens, astrophysics or aardvarks.
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