Ode to My Socks Pablo Neruda (1904 1973); Chile – – Maru Mori brought me socks. a pair of socks Nevertheless that she knit with her I fought shepherd's hands. the sharp temptation to put them away Two socks as soft the way schoolboys as rabbit fur. put fireflies in a bottle, I thrust my feet the way scholars inside them hoard as if they were holy writ. two little boxes I fought knit the mad urge from threads to lock them of sunset in a golden and sheepskin. cage and feed them birdseed My feet were and morsels of pink melon two woolen every day. fish in those outrageous socks, Like jungle two gangly, explorers navy-blue sharks who deliver a young deer impaled of the rarest species on a golden thread, to the roasting spit two giant blackbirds, then wolf it down two cannons: in shame, I stretched thus my feet forward were my feet and pulled on honored those by gorgeous those socks, heavenly and over them socks. my shoes. They were So this is so beautiful the moral of my ode: I found my feet beauty is beauty unlovable twice over for the very first time, and good things are doubly like two crusty old good firemen, firemen when you're talking unworthy about of that embroidered a pair of wool fire, socks those incandescent in the dead of winter.
Ode to My Socks – Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973); Chile Maru Mori brought me a pair of socks that she knit with her shepherd's hands. Two socks as soft as rabbit fur. I thrust my feet inside them as if they were two little boxes knit from threads of sunset and sheepskin. My feet were two woolen fish in those outrageous socks, two gangly, navy-blue sharks impaled on a golden thread, two giant blackbirds, two cannons: thus were my feet honored by those heavenly socks. They were so beautiful I found my feet unlovable for the very first time, like two crusty old firemen, firemen unworthy of that embroidered fire, those incandescent socks. Nevertheless I fought the sharp temptation to put them away the way schoolboys put fireflies in a bottle, the way scholars hoard holy writ. I fought the mad urge to lock them in a golden cage and feed them birdseed and morsels of pink melon every day. Like jungle explorers who deliver a young deer of the rarest species to the roasting spit then wolf it down in shame, I stretched my feet forward and pulled on those gorgeous socks, and over them my shoes. So this is the moral of my ode: beauty is beauty twice over and good things are doubly good when you're talking about a pair of wool socks in the dead of winter.
Poetry-Unit-Day-4-poems.docx