Dickens did lose his socks one day,
he said, oh what a shame,
on this clear yet rainy day,
Dickens socks had run away,

And only Dickens is to blame,
his socks divorced his plates of meat,
and lonely was his sweaty feet,

When Dickens did decide to write,
all he could write was,
what the dickens,
where are my mittens.

By Christos Andreas Kourtis and Larna Kira Kourtis