SOCK ISLAND

Sock Island
By Alison Nankivell
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Beyond the deepest ocean, and above the tallest trees,
Is a crazy, smelly, magical place, where my missing socks must be.
They start off in my cupboard, then they end up on my floor
Then mysteriously my little socks, seem to walk right out the door.

I know they must be somewhere, as I rummage through my room,
They were on my feet when I got home, so one would just assume!
I put them in the laundry, then I went to wash my face,
But once we bought the washing in, they’d disappeared without a trace!

I lie in bed and dream of where about my socks could be,
As I close my eyes and wonder, while my mum gets mad at me.
I think they have gone flying, well beyond the whitest clouds,
To a place where other missing socks, can get lost within the crowd.

This island’s full of magic, full of stars and full of fun,
With giant rainbow trampolines, and silver glowing suns.
Some socks are still quite dirty, and some socks are new and clean
And best of all, on Sock Island, there are no feet to be seen.

The socks all live together, in houses made of sticks,
Enjoying one another, singing songs, and playing tricks.
They sit around the camp fire, sharing stories of their past,
Without a shoe to hold them down, they are having quite a blast.



Dads football sock he leads the pack, with his stripes, black white and red.
My school sock full of holes and tears, keeps some knowledge in their head.
My ballet sock, with frills and lace, dances round and sings them songs.
While my favourite sock, I wore the most, just sits there, smelling wrong.

They party till the sun comes up, talking of their owner’s shoes,
They all agree that walking’s fine, but running is the blues.
The football sock he disagrees, He thinks that running is required,
Which is probably why His Saintly stripes, are looking more than rather tired.

The spotty sock, he talks the most, he did not belong to me,
But he’s entertaining my lost socks with banter and with glee.
The glittered sock, who found her way, to Sock Island today,
Seems nervous and a little shy, but soon she’ll feel okay.

They meet and greet each other, always new socks to arrive.
Every home I’ve ever known, has had some missing sock surprise.
I’m glad they have somewhere to go, a place they can be free.
Perhaps I should’ve have put them in my drawer more carefully.

I wonder as I lie there, with my hands behind my head,
If my missing socks are missing me, and the twin they left for dead?
Out on their misfit Island, independently they roam,
But secretly I think they miss, my feet, and long for home.

The End.