When thorns in the flesh outnumber blessing
and cannot be by tweezers pulled away,
I’ve come to regard them as bloodletting.
“Pricked by conscience” — a potent sobriquet.

These thorns, they come in every shape and size;
most small and pricking almost every day.
But some are huge and come draped in disguise;
the role of thorns: To stop me going astray.

And thus I welcome them reluctantly,
though willingly in spite of the distress.
Most have been brought through my stupidity —
fool choices made to which I acquiesced.

A voice says, “You can’t kick against the goads”.
So I have learned to live on uphill roads.

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© Copyright, Alan Morrison, 2026
[The copyright on my works is merely to protect them from any wanton plagiarism which could result in undesirable changes (as has actually happened!). Readers are free to reproduce my work, so long as it is in the same format and with the exact same content and its origin is acknowledged]

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