Where Is That Sock

It was there when I put the basket down Now here I am, scratching my crown. I know that they were accounted for Prior to my closing the door. Yet, here I am beginning to vent Because I know it's here in this basement. If I can find it, it will make my day If I don't, there'll be hell to pay. I don't have a clue as to where it might be That little white glove...for my footsee. It happens each time...I do not know why I only know it's when the cycle is set to dry. It must be sated, this one sock hunger That the dryer has each time we launder. Maybe the answer lies in buying the same For that way I could match them without any blame. Or I could bind them before washing which would do Save me the trouble of looking for one or two. But even as I stand here the intrigue goes on Where are Sherlock and Dr. Watson? They were not real, so now I must take stock But, I'll bet they could find my missing sock.