Wrangler

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All the holes had to be in the rite place

You couldn’t buy ware,they had

To be broken in just rite,stains

And creases too,Dungarees ,faded

Glory,they had to stand on there

Own before they could be washed

and someone had to be yelling in your ear,

You can’t go out looking like that

I give my rite arm for a pair

Of those jeans,the story

They would tell,my life

Would mean something

If there worth was what I spent

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6 thoughts on “Wrangler

  1. Another fine art piece — both in writing and graphics. I love that — no one can’t just buy experience and wisdom. They need to eat through our clothes; leave them tattered and torn… then bury into our souls. LOVE this! I may need to steal and barter some aspects of this brilliant work in a few days, then link back to you. ๐ŸŒนโค May I, darling?

    Liked by 1 person

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