Socks.

Inspired by @OnlyDads and MetaJugglaMum

They came in a box

odd socks.

Now they live on the floor

or behind the door.

You can’t ever find them

It’s as if they are shy

and sometimes they cause

my daughter to cry.

Do they have

a mind of their own?

An urge to roam?

Why don’t they stay

safe, in the drawer?

It’s rather like life.

Not safe any more.

‘Cos children grow up.

And parents the same.

They give you a childhood,

they give you a name.

Some give you much love,

some only give pain

We’re always all children

inside, all the same.

Socks aren’t only socks.

They can be so much more.

If you can find where they’re hidden,

in the heap, on the floor.

And if you’re wondering why I’ve been inspired to write this incredibly quick and rather poor poem about socks, go read all about the Odd Sock Christmas Tree decoration event.