My Sweater

My Sweater

This sonnet will rhyme about a sweater.
It is brown and gray-ish and worn and old.
Sweaters in stores I don't like; mine's better.
I've worn it for years; I never got cold.

Sweaters in stores are all pretty and nice.
My sweater looks like a tired camel.
Mine didn't have the huge Ralf Lauren price.
But who needs a knit like white enamel?

My sweater's buttons are mismatched, some lost.
By now you can guess I like it that way.
Macy's would ask me to pay a big cost
To buy their sweater, and throw mine away.

I still don't want new sweaters at the mall;
That's 'cause I have the best sweater of all!