MY SOCKS.
My feet are number seven, but the law says I must wear
A pair of socks that are five sizes small;
That’s why I cry aloud and dance and at the keepers swear,
And on the State the wrath of Heaven call.
I wish the Sheriff, Governor, the Judge and President
And the Jury were all here behind the locks;
And that ministers of justice would their living long prevent,
For my toes are packed like sardines in a box.
From one of those detestable individuals who wants everything: