Socks

good deeds

Adam Cullpepper

Carried his written letter

Down to the corner mail box

 

On his way

His feet were to say

They wished he had worn some socks

 

They weren’t feeling too well

And with them beginning to swell

He took a seat on large rocks

 

And loudly complained

About being possibly lamed

As though he was 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 Adam

 

With his feet now nicely protected

And his route reprojected

He continued merrily on his way

 

The good priest meanwhile

Was left with a smile

For performing his good deed of the day

 

 

                    

 

 

Reviews

[Ana Papaya]

Cute story Dave but now I'm wondering, do a priest's feet smell?
:)

[Dave Brown]

That is very personal AP.
Very very personal!!
Next thing, you'll be wanting to know the color of his ginch gonch
He was just a nice man
a very nice man
That should be enough
AP

[Ana Papaya]

I'm sure they're black. :)

[AJNJ]

I kept wondering what was in it for the priest 🤔?
When in fact, he was just doing someone a good turn.
Generosity amazes us these days....
How selfish we've become.

[Dave Brown]

I think his feet were too hot!!
You've got me feeling guilty because I have been approached for money so often, I just turn away now

[AJNJ]

Sometimes, I ask them for money. It always works and they move away... :)

[Dave Brown]

Hahaha
I'll have to try that

[AJNJ]

If it works, we have a formula we can sell :)

[barleygirl]

This poem is banging on all cylinders, imparting a limerick-esque vibe with the peppy rhyme & rhythm, as well as telling an untangled tale (sometimes your trajectories can be surprising, but not this time!) I love how your message imparts a meaning that can be applied to many different possibilities. But still, in the end, I was thinking I would never put someone else's socks on my feet without washing them first, so I'm left with a bit of an "icky" shoulder-rising aversion to this poem. Here in California socks are not needed & I don't own any myself. Maybe I need to weigh in poetically on the ridiculousness of socks. Or maybe I need to smoke my first bowl of the morning & mellow out! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Dave Brown]

Better first make sure that camel isn't lurking about or that you don't get run over by some a-rab in a dune buggy
Happy mellowing BG
Jeasus! I am a terrible typist

[Christine Anne Shaw]

A good deed indeed. A kindly priest donating his smelly socks to a needy person. What more can you want? The priest gets a smile on his face the person gets relief for his sore feet. A win, win situation. Dave I would love to know the inspiration for this write,:)) I am totally intrigued.

Chris

[Dave Brown]

Well,,, there was this blade of grass............