SEVEN IN A ROW

Seven little socks

hanging in a row

Whose can they be?

Maybe I know.

The long ones are sister's
The striped must be her brother's
The little bitsy baby ones
Are surely not her mother's!

Looking lost without their mates
hanging in a row
Seven little socks
with no place to go.

I'll hold them to my heart
Pretend I hear a giggle
as I tickle tiny toes
until they're in a pickle!

Then quietly I'll hang them up
seven in a row
and pray God bless the little feet
wherever they may go.