Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet, explores a pair of socks in “Oda a los calcetines” (“Ode to My Socks”), vividly comparing them to various objects in a richly imagery-filled journey.

Its narrative quality makes it easy to follow. It’s one of my favorite poems.

Read here -

Maru Mori brought me
a pair of socks
that she knitted herself with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft as rabbit fur.
Into them I slipped my feet
as though into two cases
knit with thread of
twilight and sheepskin.

Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool, 
two large sharks
of sea-blue
crossed by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons;
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.

They were so beautiful that for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
into a golden cage and give them every
day birdseed and pink melon flesh.

Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

And this is the moral of my Ode:
beauty is twice beauty,
and what is good is doubly good,
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.