Said the sock from the left to the one from the right:
"My significant other, what I say may be trite
but we have to prepare for the case that we might
lose each other forever on some stormy night,
when our honorable owner, sir George Wickenham-Wright
who, we both are aware, simply isn't too bright
(his grandfather once gave the queen some delight -
her virtues were known, not so her appetite -
to avoid the embarrassment she dubbed him a knight)
may forget one of us in some forsaken site
and never thereafter shall we lay our sight
on each other's soft cloth, so smooth and so white.
So my darling, please fold yourself over me tight
because lover-socks always live in a fright
that after the next wash they'll never unite".