Shall we take our socks off or leave them on?
Often the warmth is ripped from icy feet
and thrown away from the square of fake lawn
near the table that holds a can of deet
a pair of small gloves and a jar of heat
A night bird sings outside the wire mesh box
The decision is made not to repeat
I sit on ice wearing my brown knee socks
my shoulders covered by long lovely locks
You rip the top off a package of joy
I look around hoping nobody knocks
You steal sweets as I pretend to be coy
My head hits the bottom green window pane
We both confess we are quite insane

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