Lost. And Found.

I love socks. Always have. I have “popsicle toes” so socks help.  Golf socks. Knee socks. Bobby socks. Doesn’t matter. I don’t discriminate. I love them all.My favorite shopping web site is www.joyofsocks.com The colors, the designs, the craziness.   Almost too much to bear. But I manage. Quite well, actually.And, oh, how I hate to lose a sock. Was it eaten? By the dryer? The dog? The cat?To paraphrase Ms. Peep: “Where, oh, where did that little sock go? Where, oh, where could it be?”I have a friend. She’s a poet. Her name is Elizabeth Robin. She wrote a poem about the overwhelming joy of finding that long lost sock. She said it so well. I hold her poem close to my heart and in my sock drawer. It helps me stay upbeat and positive about finding the lost one. With her permission, I am sharing her poem with you. I hope you, too, will find comfort in her words.  A Simple Pleasuretoday i found that sockthe one that disappeared in the laundry months agothe one i sifted and sorted and searched to recoverthe one that was cushy and fuzzy and warmthe one that brought piggly wiggly joy reunited with its lonely twinthe one who’s been waiting in that dark, cold drawer, aloneso patiently, trusting her double would return some dayabandoned twin haunting the sock drawertaunting my helplessness, my haphazard wardrobe control and just when i’d abandoned all hope, there, just thereinside the form-fitting folds of last season’s sheetsthere, yes there, better than graduation and trophies and christmas morningeuphoria, because todayi found that sock ©Elizabeth Robin