I have to say I like my skin,
The way it holds my organs in.
For me inside, it's like a roof -
It keeps me warm, it's water-proof.
As I say, I like my skin;
It's neat the way that I fit in,
With toes and fingers, nose and tongue,
And looked so great when I was young.
There's tiny holes where hairs stick out,
And larger holes called "orifices"
For food - to smell, to hear, to shout -
And several other serviceses.
When cut, it mends itself with ease;
Responds to contact - stroke or pat-
And shrinks or stretches as I please
(Perhaps I'll say no more of that)
When people see the skin I'm in,
They say they've seen me - "Look, it's him!"
Of course, there's more to me than this,
But it's the part you cannot miss.
Though growing old is not much fun,
I find the wrinkles grow on one.
It's superficial, I'll admit,
To love the glove in which I fit.