Once upon a laundry day,
In a house of careless sway,
A sock was left upon the floor,
While parents dashed right out the door.
The sock, unloved, began to fray,
But what’s a sock to say, “Hey, stay”?
No time to fold, no time to care,
Just throw the socks and comb the hair.
Ignored by two who paid the bills,
Too busy scaling office hills.
The sock cried out, "Oh, look at me!
Am I not part of your family?"
But silence met the lonely plea,
The parents lost in ‘me, me, me.’
No cuddles, hugs, or bedtime prayers—
Just endless likes and empty stares.
The sock grew restless, yearning more,
For love, affection, maybe a drawer.
So out it wandered, bold and free,
To every hand that said, “Take me.”
It danced from foot to foot, so quick,
With all the fervor of a trick.
It didn’t care whose shoe it wore,
Just someone who’d feel something more.
And yet, despite the fleeting warmth,
The sock felt hollow, lost its form.
No stitch, no patch, no fancy lace,
Could fill that unwashed, vacant space.
Perhaps if someone once had stayed,
And noticed where the laundry lay,
This sock might not have wandered far—
To search for love beneath a bar.
But socks, like hearts, need not just feet,
They crave the touch that’s warm, complete.
So when you see your laundry tossed,
Consider what you might have lost
©gj30
G