A Sermon for the Lost Sock Dimension

Dearly beloved, we gather here today
To speak of socks that’ve gone astray —
Through quantum portals in the dryer,
To realms both stranger and much higher.

Let us pray for cotton souls
Who’ve slipped through dimensional holes,
Those single socks who’ve gone before
Through laundry’s mysterious door.

In that realm beyond the lint,
Where missing matches give no hint,
A paradise of lonely peers
Accumulates throughout the years.

Blessed be the argyle bold,
And tube socks white, both young and old,
Who sacrificed their earthly pairs
To climb the great eternal stairs.

The gospel of the missing toe,
Speaks truth that all socks come to know:
“Though partners fade from mortal sight,
They dance in realms of pure delight.”

Yea, though we walk through shadows deep
Of mismatched socks we tried to keep,
Fear not! For they have found their way
To where all lost socks go to play.

Repent! Oh ye who dare to blame
The washer’s drum of sorted shame —
For it is but a gateway pure
To sock salvation’s final tour.

And lo! The prophets have foretold
Of sock rapture’s manifold:
When all lost socks shall return at last,
United with their pairs long past.

Until that day, we keep the faith,
In dresser drawers, their empty wraith,
Knowing that beyond space-time,
Our socks live on in peace sublime.

For the dimension of lost things
Is where each lonely sock takes wing,
In fellowship with keys and pens,
Until the universe makes amends.

Amen, dear friends, and let us say:
May all lost socks find their way
To that great hamper in the sky,
Where no sock ever has to die.