Lost

That lonely sock left in your drawer,
The washer split the pair,
That other sock was eaten whole,
Leaving one foot bare.

That eaten sock is seldom found,
And very rarely worn,
Forgotten in a darkened place,
It lays there quite forlorn.

My little sister tells a tale,
Of tiny little mice,
Who have stolen our possessions,
And are not very nice.

Every time you loose your keys,
Do not lose your goals,
For the keys are much too large
For their tiny little holes.

So the story in our household,
In the messy din,
Is that not possesssions lost,
In a hole it lies therein.