Has my daughter got one leg?
I wonder, as from beneath her bed
I pull one smelly, screwed up sock.
Perhaps it is my super washer
that consumes one and leaves the other?
But No! I decide that cannot be.
For to eat one and have one remain
I’d have to put in two the same.
I reach once more beneath the bed
I twist my neck and bump my head
My arm contorts and flails around
Searching for a missing mound
Of lonely, frightened, single socks.
Without success I leave my task.
I rub my knees, straighten my back.
I spy some fabric poking out
from between two books and a CD stack.
‘You reek a! , Missing sock! ’ I shout.
My optimism is soon shattered.
Well, one more odd sock hardly matters.
At least I’ve found a pair of knickers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem