18-The Mystery Of The Lost Soles Sonnet Poem by Anthony D Bailey

Alone they lay on the pavement or kerb,
Quietly waiting, perhaps to be found.
Noticed my many though few disturb,
Of interest to mainly the probing hound.
I do wonder what happened to the twin?
A riddle even Sherlock would enjoy,
Assisted by pipe and the violin,
And no doubt Watson he’d also employ.
Still there, on my return trip, still lonely,
A ladies, size unknown, black, flat and worn.
Will she find before sweeper claims debris?
Or will she have to hop off home and mourn?
Where do they come from and where do they go?
This is the mystery of the lost soles.

(August 09)