Holes

Holes

Holes in old socks you found in the drawer,
best thrown in the bin and buy some more.
Yes you can darn them but that just seems mean,
I suppose it’s the cost of keeping them clean.
It’s due to all that stretching between ankles and toes.
Things wear themselves out, that is how it goes.
Look for life with no holes and you cannot win.
For a list of some holes, let me begin.
Critics of novels and drama can find holes in a plot.
Holes can mean more damage than a cut or a blot.
A hole can establish itself where you are not.
A hole can grow, be hard to block,
which returns me to the hole in the sock.
Holes don’t care a fig,
if you’re a hedgehog or pig,
you will find holes,
sure as buds burst from a twig.
A hole in a relationship can fill you with chill.
First it can start to break your heart and then your will.
Some holes are natural, like holes in a tree bole,
a hole made by a mole.
Others are necessary, like holes in a sieve.
There can be holes in an argument, whichever one you may give.
They speak of holes in treaties, loop holes in laws.
At least you need holes in key holes to open doors.
Those who die and are buried are lowered into a hole.
More holes there will be as time takes its toll.
It’s no use getting paranoid about holes,
otherwise you see them everywhere and in everything.
You cannot block them all with cork, healing talk or string.
If you work for perfection, beware the first hint of a hole.
If you want to know how to build one, ask a rabbit or mole.
Without holes a golf course would be dumb as a brick.
There would be nowhere to hit the ball to with your stick.
Polo was advertised as the mint with the hole,
which meant half of what you paid for was nothing,
which was never your goal.
Out there, in the cosmos, they speak of black holes,
a dark matter for astronomers to play with,
like Sir Francis Drake with his game of bowls.
It may all shatter, to our wonder and awe.
As for me, I wish not to speak of holes anymore.

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