This was going to be a piece
Where I expunged the flickering flame of sadness
That fickle prickle lurking
Whenever I take my shoes off
And show you my weird ankles
Or how that nail never quite grows right
But its OK sometimes
When pain slips through the callouses
And sticks between my toes
I may limp for a while
And keep my laces done up tight
But every wincing step reminds me
Barefoot freedom on the grass
Is worth this prickle price