calliope, calliope 2018

sock – another poem

photo credits here

by shina

A singular sock sits atop my laundry,
lonely and unmatched.
Weird, how one manages to get lost along the way
never to be found again.
Almost as though Neverland is real,
Its soul immortalised without its mate.
What a sad existence that must be,
To be one sock missing its other half.

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