Ode to My Garden Pants

                   When I was looking for shorts,

                   you were there for me. 

                   You were longer than

                   what I had wanted.  Oh,

                   but you were so comfortable. 

                   When I had you on,

                   I barely even knew

                   you were there.  Well, that is

                   until you started to stain. 

                   I had tried cleaning you. 

                   I really had.  The stain

                   was just too stubborn

                   . . . or so I believed

                   Gradually you became my garden pants

                   as you were stained anyway,

                   what was a little dirt (as I mention in this post)

                   You protected me from the heat of the sun.

                   I appreciated that.  You must have had

                   connections with the sun. 

                   It removed the stains that

                   I could no longer find.  Still

                   I kept wearing you each week

                   when we'd clean the church,

                   each week we worked in the garden. 

                   I am so sorry you got torn

                   over the years.  It was

                   bound to happen.  I had you

                   for many years.

                   I still had you when

                   we moved to Oregon. 

                   I no longer worked in the garden. 

                   I did a rather pathetic patch work

                   on you and made you my

                   paint pants - which may have been

                   a demotion rather than

                   a promotion.  How sad

                   you looked. 

                   Still you continued

                   to serve me. 

                   I may have not noticed you still -

                   except for that stupid patch. 

                   That actually became annoying

                   after a while. 

                   You continued to rip -

                   well at least one leg. 

                   I hadn't noticed until today -

                   until I went to take your picture -

                   that you were also torn

                   just below my left cheek. 

                   The sun wasn't even out for

                   the last day you were worn.

                   There is a tear in my eye

                   as I toss you in the garbage can. 

                   You were so good to me. But you

                   have fulfilled the measure

                   of your creation. 

                   Good-bye, dear friend.

                   I shall surely miss you.

                                                                                    - kfralc