The Misplaced Sock

In the realm where the dryer hums its tune,

There's a mystery that's known to all,

A sock vanishes, without a trace,

Leaving its partner in a lonely sprawl.

Once a pair, united in their task,

To warm a foot, to cushion a shoe,

Now, one remains, a solitary soul,

Its purpose lost, its future uncertain, too.

It lingers in the drawer, a woeful sight,

A monument to the vanished mate,

A testament to the dryer's cruel whim,

A victim of the laundry's fickle fate.

Does it dwell in the realm of the lost?

With odd gloves and the keys that went astray,

Or does it bide its time, awaiting return,

To reunite on some distant washing day?

So here's to the sock, the lonely and lost,

A symbol of life's little, absurd costs.