Thorn in my hand from adventure gone ill,
My body to wound, my spirit to fill,
I thought I removed you, but no, not quite,
Small under my skin, just out of sight,
A little reminder, when brushed against,
Of days of splendor when freedom was sensed,
The skin has grown over, the wound to renew,
The repercussions so many, the feelings so few,
At last I release you, now we part ways,
No doubt I’ll meet more of you, on some other days.

J.Doyle