I layed there with the dust bunnies
for oh so very long.
My brilliant white had turned to gray,
dust-covered, that's so wrong.
A simple trip to wash and dry,
with others of my ilk.
The basket fell and out we dropped
socks, panties, bras of silk.
Most of us, then, were scooped up quick
and that includes my twin.
But I got wedged between machines,
it really was a sin.
For days on end, I tarried there
until a random mouse,
darted out, took me along,
dragged halfway through the house.
The owner saw me lying there,
mistook me for a rag.
He used me to clean up his tools
than threw me in a bag.
Into the garbage can, I went,
I feared I'd never see
my twin or other fellow socks
and they'd never see me.
Except I have a distinct mark
their son soon recognized,
a large check on me, I stood out,
twixt moldy bread and flies.
He called out, "Mom, I found my sock!"
and lucky, I'd soon be.
Washed and dried, back in the drawer,
my twin rolled up with me.
With dust and mice and garbage cans
my journey, not a treat.
My twin and I like traveling
snug on our owner's feet.
I'm happy now, amongst my friends
I never want to roam.
As all the socks and undies say
there is no place like home.
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