In the loom of night, it weaves
A sock—not just a garment,
But a vessel of warmth,
Whispering promises between every breath,
Each thread births a heartbeat.
Was it woven by hands unseen,
Or does it spend its nights crafting destinies?
Lost in the folds of time,
It lies nestled in forgotten drawers,
Waiting for someone to claim its warmth.
Reach into the mystery.
Embrace the infinity it offers.