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Lost Sock Trail
T’was perhaps by dint of fate
Or some demonic spell
That I, a sock, was granted
The gift of sniff-less smell
I gaged and retched in darkness
Of a foot’s pungent aroma
Finally, I fled the scene
Became a match-less roamer
I hang about old laundramats
With socks lost and unfound
They share a single loneliness
A fading hope of being found
Not me, I shout, I shan’t return
It’s the wanderer’s life I seek
For I miss not the brogans
And those feet that truly reek
Yet, you may see me resting
In the warmth of sunset’s fail
Singing songs of corns and bunions
As I walk that lost sock trail
Copyright ©
John Lawless
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