Socks by Taiba AlOtaibi

Socks, hocks, fiddly locks, a little house on the prairie.
Hots, shots, imminently lots, the boys jumped on the ferry.
Locks, box, sly cunning fox, the girls hid all the cherries.
Hone, zone, fervently shone, the boys flipped ducked and parried.
Attack, crack, the one lonely pack, here comes the long white and hairy. 
Divide, collide, a once holy pride, chained to a thought that is scary.
Amuse, bemuse, left all the old muse, stuck in a place with no berries.
Align, decline, whats yours will be mine, its all so necessary.
Sock, shock, finally unlocked, exposed toes are so airy.
Grin, shin, the one lonely fin, took off like a white canary.
Soul, hole, stunk like a troll, they all fell down the aerie.
Lock, hock, fiddly socks, and it all burnt ’round the prairie.

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