_"Socks, wooly socks, nothing but the furry socks
In this bleak closet, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither feel the socks nor give it thanks
For warming my feet more then they have ever been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the socks sit upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, without socks on,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead
like a wooly sock among dirty underpants,
Myriad of dirty underpants all still and stiff,
Like me who has no love which this wooly sock
Has not warmed except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint."_
ShadowKobold
