I have had my levis a very long time,
rips and tears, patches on patches.
25 years, of a stitch in time, saves nine,
so many different colors, nothing matches.
I love my Jeans so much,
if them, I could only touch.
There hanging behind a frame,
it's not quite the same.
I want to wear my Jeans,
I love my blue pants.
I think it's in my Genes,
or are they called trousers?
I mean, to put your legs,
into that soft velvet.
A little low riding on the hip,
bell bottoms as well as a zip.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem