A little poem I wrote tonight to explain all those missing socks :)

Where the Wild Socks Are

Out of the forest and onto the street

In through the gate on his monstery feet,

Past bushes and bins, nasturtiums and gnomes,

He opens back doors of hundreds of homes.

 

He’s never been seen for he’s not very tall,

but no laundry is safe, he’s been to them all.

He watches and waits and watches some more

for the family’s wash to come through the door.

 

He licks his wet lips and he slobbers and sighs                                                

and dreams of his dinner – the ultimate prize.

He climbs in the suds, between smelly old jocks,

then he gobbles up ONE of each pair of socks.