Pablo Neruda is a knitworthy poet

After reading this poem posted on Ravelry, I'm going to have to learn more about Pablo Neruda. I've never been a huge reader of poetry, but anyone who loves handmade socks that much deserves some consideration. Well, that and winning a Nobel prize.

Ode to a pair of socks

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.