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I love blue jeans
rich with memory
faded and comfortable
with time.
When I was young
blue jeans meant my dad
working in the yard
or saddling up a horse.
Blue jeans meant
I was riding the hills
bareback and free
full of fertile imagination
and other worlds.
Blue jeans meant
pegged button-up Levi's
and they meant
bell bottoms and hippies
and shopping the navy surplus store
so I could be cool too.
Some things have changed over the years
but my love of blue jeans hasn’t waned.
Rather they seem to be
an integral part of who I am.
They embody many memories.
They are things I love
to do, like hiking
and being out of doors.
They mean hanging out with friends
with no expectations
no pretense
just easy
and comfortable.
Yes, I guess I'm just
a blue jeans kind of gal.
And who knows, maybe
someday I'll be buried in them.
After all
they are part of who I am
they tell part of my story.
But not everything.
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