My Blue Old Jeans
A gaggle of girls lounging in the sun,
in the green grass many pairs of legs, stretched out
clad in their blue jeans.
My old pair, many memories...
In them I dug into the garden soil,
planting my spring flowers; my jeans grubby.
A girl gamboling in the rain,
water soaking into her and every pore of fibre
of her blue old jeans.
Many moons ago, my jeans
touching his knees;
they remember the feel of his bare hands,
as he smoothly traced the lines of those blue jeans.
The hems got frayed, threads hung loose...
They'd seen better days, blotches of old paint,
colours that stayed.
Sitting astride my horse,
looked far into the dipping sky;
My rough old jeans,
Has spent many autumns; growing old with me.
5th place in the contest
For nette's contest : "It's in my Jeans"
Written by Gautami Phookan