Entering the room, the wife stopped short at the door:
She saw not one, two or three, but FOUR pants on the floor!
What could have caused an action so rash,
Four trousers crumpled like yesterday's trash?

Pair No. 1 was a scintilla off-hue.
Black slacks had been ordered; navy blue would not do.
The next pair examined, judged unfit for display —
Its slightly frayed hem had caused utter dismay.

A third castaway was the oddest one yet.
Color, condition, size: All requirements were met.
But something was off, something just not quite right.
So it joined the rest in their pitiful plight.

The fourth was too small — (must have shrunk in the laundry).
Now what to wear was a desperate quandary!
With so many garments given the boot,
Had he gone to extremes, either jeans or a suit?

Or perhaps he was eliciting shocked "ooohs" and "ohs"
By parading around in the emperor’s new clothes.
She chuckled, quite sure he lacked the requisite gall
To show up for work in his nothing-at-all.

No, he must have found something deemed worthy to keep,
While tossing the rest in an untidy heap.
What happened to the discards, you may be tempted to ask.
"Blue" and "new" were laundered, that unending task.

The pair with worn cuff, after much thought and care,
Was donated to charity for another to wear,
While the tight-fitting trousers were packed up in storage,
Pending an increase in exercise, and decrease in forage.