Mara Mori brought me br a pair of socks br which she knitted herself br with her sheepherder's hands, br two socks as soft as rabbits. br I slipped my feet into them br as if they were two cases br knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin, br Violent socks, br my feet were two fish made of wool, br two long sharks br sea blue, shot through br by one golden thread, br two immense blackbirds, br two cannons, br my feet were honored in this way br by these heavenly socks. br They were so handsome for the first time br my feet seemed to me unacceptable br like two decrepit firemen, br firemen unworthy of that woven fire, br of those glowing socks. br br Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation br to save them somewhere as schoolboys br keep fireflies, br as learned men collect br sacred texts, br I resisted the mad impulse to put them br in a golden cage and each day give them br birdseed and pieces of pink melon. br Like explorers in the jungle br who hand over the very rare green deer br to the spit and eat it with remorse, br I stretched out my feet and pulled on br the magnificent socks and then my shoes. br br The moral of my ode is this: br beauty is twice beauty br and what is good is doubly good br when it is a matter of two socks br made of wool in winter.