Gramps blue jeans, all fresh, clean, and new
Just came from the store, and were on sale too
They’re washed and they’re folded, and stacked in neat piles
Put away in drawers, neatly like files
Each one alike, all put in their spot
Gramps new blue jeans, organized to the dot
When morning comes, he dons them with care
Unbeknownst to the things, the poor jeans will bare
Splatters of paint, some big and some small
From helping his wife, with painting a wall
A tear and frayed hems, appear without doubt
While tending a garden, and helping a sprout
A big dark green stain, from pureed veggies
From helping the kids, feed the grandbabies
A small spot of blood, from one cut so mild
Appeared while helping, a small grandchild
Day in and day out, these poor jeans are beat
Through helping his family, and keeping things neat
They wear and they tear, just like old Gramps
But hold firm and true, steady like champs
And when those old things, can’t take any more
Gramps old blue jeans, all beat and all sore
Are tossed away, along with the spots
The splatters, and tatters, and tears are forgot
But the memories stay, up in Grandpa’s head
As he takes the bag, and puts in their stead
A pair of new jeans, all fresh, clean, and blue
And what do you know, these were on sale too!