Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother

Where the Lost Socks Go
A Cozy Sock Tale in Rhyme

By the Fairy Bra Mother

Once upon a laundry spin,
In baskets deep and dryer din,
Lived Stripey and Dot, a perfect pair,
Who danced through life without a care.

They peeked from boots in happy hues,
They snuggled close in tennis shoes.
But then one washday—oh, the shock—
Dear Stripey vanished from the sock!

Dot sat folded, neat and clean,
But felt a space where he had been.
No fluff, no thread, no static zap,
Just quiet where they’d overlap.

Yet humans don’t know (though they try to explain)
With theories of dryers who snack on the plain—
That when socks disappear from the folding parade,
They’re called to a realm where heroes are made.

Behind the dryer, tucked from view,
A portal glows in linty blue.
Only socks well-loved and worn,
With stretched-out tops and colors torn,
May enter Socktopia’s snuggly land,
To serve with honor, foot in hand.

Stripey, proud in faded thread,
Was sent to where small dragons tread—
A baby beast with claws so cold,
And dreams too dark for him to hold.
Stripey became his nighttime guard,
A sleep-sock warm, a dragon’s bard.

Dot missed him still, that much is true,
But then one day, a note came through—
Tied in yarn to an argyle toe,
With magic only socks could know:

“Dear Dot,” it read, “I’m doing fine,
I warm cold claws and guard dreamtime.
Tell the humans, near and far:
Mismatched socks are never bizarre.
We’re chosen, Dot—we’re brave and bold,
With cozy tales yet to be told.”

Dot smiled wide, her thread aglow,
And wore her single like a bow.
For every sock, both lone and paired,
Is stitched with love and slightly dared.

So when you find a sock alone,
Don’t toss it out, or start to moan.
Just know it might be on a quest—
To warm a heart, to do its best.

Because in the realm of lint and light,
Lost socks go on to do what’s right.
They’re not misplaced, nor gone in vain—
They’re simply snug… beyond the drain.