The Lost Things

They must be all around me —

the lost things,

My best pencil, my first doll,

a single sock,

the locket Mum gave me

for my seventh birthday,

the one I promised to never lose.

They lurk in dusky corners,

and grooves and places

I can’t begin to think of

Loving their freedom

Camouflaging their grins

Watching me as I search everywhere —

But where they are

Those clever, clever, lost things

Forever playing hide

While I play seek.

Dianne Bates