The hamper sighed a cotton mountain tall

The hamper sighed, a cotton mountain tall.

I tripped, of course, and watched it fall.

A tidal wave of fabric, soft and grim,

spilled out its stink from rim to rim.

Old sweat, a faint and sour perfume,

mingled with regret inside my room.

And there it sat, upon the pile,

a single yellow sock, bereft, a guile-

less banner, faded, small, and worn.

A lonely flag, since it was born,

it seemed, to wait for someone's hand.

A forgotten thing in this lost land

of dirty clothes, a quiet plea.

It stared, accusingly, at me.

So many things un-done, un-pressed.

Just a sock, but it put me to the test.