Two Socks

Adam Cullpepper

Took his written letter

Down to the corner mail box

 

On his way

His feet were to say

They wished he had worn some socks

 

With them not feeling too well

And their beginning to swell

He took a seat on large rocks

 

And loudly complained

About the possibly of being lamed

As though he were on a soapbox

 

Finally heard by a fellow

Guaranteed to be mellow

Dressed in a priest’s black frocks

 

From beneath his frock

From each foot came one sock

Handing each one over to a sore Adam

 

With his feet now nicely protected

And his route reprojected

Adam continued pon on his way

 

The good priest meanwhile

Was left with a smile

For performing his good deed of the day