They march across the bed
In various colors and hues;
The army of the Mismatched Socks
In reds, yellows, greens, browns, and blues.
Their partners have been lost,
(Hmm, that sounds familiar.)
Some temporarily,
And some are gone forever.
But how could they be gone?
By what stroke of fate have they fled?
These are the things that I ponder
As their mates march across the bed.
Each one clamors at me:
I’m a week, a month, or a year
In the lives of your children;
You’re losing time; can you not hear??
“My name is Too Busy,
Or Not Right Now, Honey,
Or What’s That Again, Dear?
Isn’t What So Funny?”
“I’m Sorry That I Didn’t Hear
A Single Word that you Said,
Uh Huh, Maybe This Weekend,”
Scream the mismatched socks on the bed.
“I Just Want To Be Alone,
I Need Some Rest. We’ll See.”
When they lost their father,
They also lost a part of me.
Will we ever find time again
For family and friends?
For nurturing relationships
For sharing love that transcends?
Some of the socks are lost forever,
But some will be found again.
I really need to take the time
To start over and look for them.
The socks are much less valuable
Than the time I lose with my younglings.
I need to change priorities
And focus on the right things.
Note: I wrote a non-rhyming version of this poem back in 1995. Those children are grown and have children of their own. By God’s grace, we have a good relationship.
