I match socks sitting at the end of our bed, and often find myself feeling sad. Sorry for the 7 socks, big and small, that never seem to have a mate. Nod with me in grievance, because I am sure you know them well. In the beginning, my pony tail swished to my working hum as nonchalantly tossed the lone rangers back into the hamper. I wasn’t sad then. Its been 3 years, and my hopes for their search are dwindling. No hair swishing happy tunes here. Still no match. Not a single one. They’ve worn themselves silly on their travels from hamper to machine. *sniff* Here I perch, tear in eye, whispering goodbye. Snowman black, white pink toed too. Baby sock 1, 2 and 3. Blacky-magee, and of course my favourite…Baby blue mini. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
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