When we left, our clothes stayed behind,
in drawers and dark closets
hung on the washing line, waiting,
on hooks by the door, while we went out through a window.
Some lay where we dropped them, in our hurry:
in stairwells, on doorsteps and fire-escapes,
in the open doors of cars.
Only clothes which had no choice came with us,
and now they are all worn thin, torn and bloodstained –
except for the tiny socks
that I keep in my pocket,
pink and untouched
That will never be outgrown.
– Nicola Davies, Children’s Laureate Wales 2025-2027