My Old Blue Jeans
(Re Old Poems)
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,
colors that stayed.
Spent many autumns, growing old with me
My rough old jeans.
I looked far, into the dipping sky,
The soaring waves, breaking into foam,
Turn to the grey hills, as I spread my wings,
braving my last journey,
for the bird to be finally home.
..
Written for nette's contest 'Blue Jeans'
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