©Jeanne E Webster — All rights reserved
A thorn in the flesh is healthier
Than a clot of pride in the heart.
A thorn will prick your attention;
Pride vainly numbs your smarts.
A thorn seeks immediate care
To purge the prick of its pain.
Pride probes for its pacifier,
Suavely sucking its own gain.
How quickly we yank the thorn;
It is most troublesome at best.
We leave fleshly plump Pride
Feathering and fluffing its nest.
Thorns set off many red flags,
Panic buttons and alarms;
Pride smugly veils its soul
Concealing its ways of harm.
Give me a thorn any old day,
Within my flesh or without;
I’ll rid it of its harmful deed
And quickly give it a shout!
But Pride, O me, O my, I cry!
Is a need I must have for sure.
Please spare me just a little bit.
How else will “I” ever endure?!