Ode-r to the Forgotten Sock

This sock, its any old sock,

its pair-less to me.

Alone it sits, in a beat-up box,

shoved into a remote corner of my room.

Turned inside out,

with the fuzzies showing,

looking dirty and smelling quite raunchy.

This forgotten sock,

is alone in this cruel and unforgiving world,

without a mate, unable to make a pair,

incapable to wear.

And I’m wondering how,

it got the hell in here.

The lonely sock,

the forgotten sock,

is tarnished and foul.

It seems so mean,

to leave it seen,

without its buddy, its pal.

So for the time being,

I'll name it....

Bertha.