An ode

An ironic twist of fate pierced me deeply.
This poem written in the morning,
and the damage done later that day...

THESE PANTS

Through thick and thin,

   like a second skin.

Protect from the sun,

  whilst my skin may be numb.

They've been through mud and rain,

  sangria in Spain.

Through gluttony and glib,

  and mudbutt in Maghrib.

These pants.

Soaked up blood and sweat,

  and ain't seen nothin' yet.

From hotel sink to sink,

  often hold enough sweat to drink.

Crawling through dirt in NTT,

  so dehydrated...I wish I could pee.

Through fever in Flores,

  and high-class trips to the Polres.

These pants.

Forging their way to the end,

  oh, REI and their nylon blend!

These pants.