The skin that I’m in

‘I’m glad we’ve got skin,’ said someone arriving indoors from a downpour. It made me think.

I’ve grown quite attached to it,
Genetically matched to it,
It’s been wrapped around me since birth.
I never remove it
Or try to improve it,
It’s my closest companion on earth.

It’s all in one sheet
From my head to my feet:
Top to toe, front to back, side to side.
It can stretch, and it bends;
If I cut it, it mends,
So it keeps all my insides inside.

It gets up when I do,
Helps cook when I try to,
And I’m never alone when I dine.
Like the best of good mates,
It helps wash the plates
And never refuses good wine.

Even though it’s quite thin,
Wind and rain can’t get in
When there’s terrible weather around;
But it needs insulation
In a cold situation
Such as winter, or night-times, I’ve found.

It’s got holes where my nose is,
And that, I suppose, is
To make sure fresh air can get in.
They’re in just the right place
On the front of my face
So they don’t interfere with my grin.

It has taken some knocks,
And it’s had a few shocks,
But it’s stayed with me, through thick and thin.
All in all, I am glad
That, since I was a lad,
I have lived in the skin that I’m in.

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