SOCKLAND



My husbands Socks are the bane of my life
They are forever getting me into lots of strife


He takes them off. He puts them in the bin
I’ve seen him do it, I’ve watched them go in


I place them in the washing machine
And that’s the last time, one’s ever seen


There must be a land where odd socks go
I have to believe it’s down below


'Cos up above they would not do this
It’s strange but it only happens to his


My socks go in two by two
And come out again like good socks do


I’m sure he thinks I do it for kicks
But it’s only my washing machine, up to it’s tricks


So I’ll keep buying more, so he doesn’t complain
And I’ll try to solve this problem, again


By Jan Ward © 1999.