Elegy Written on the Death of my Favourite Sock
Where art thou now, O lonely, left-footed friend of mine?
Wandering through Valhalla, some afterlife divine?
Art thou gone to oblivion, or to burn forever in Hell?
Or reborn as a handkerchief – who among us can tell?
Last morning you were sprightly, with your mirror image paired,
Your right-footed companion with you my drawer shared.
This evening I am gloomy, aye, sunk deep and morose
And from out of my left sandal, do coyly peep my toes.
Into the great round portal of the washing machine you went –
(I cannot bear to think of it, in grief I am double-bent)
To have your sins all washed away, and your purity restored,
But the omens I did not heed, and the warnings I ignored.
And when the buzzer sounded, I knew not that I had erred,
I could not know, in truth, that ’twas your death-knell that I heard.
I opened the great round door, and eagerly peered within –
But you were gone – GONE! – amid the fury of Wash and Rinse and Spin.
Now I am a shadow, broken where once I was bold.
With frost-bite in my left foot, and other ailments of the cold.
I pass my time in listening to the meaningless tick of the clock,
And in cursing the foul machine that went and ate my sock.