Sally had a hangnail on her left fourth toenail
irksome though the agnail be
Sally chose not to see
Sally drew the conclusion
that the hangnail was an illusion
her claw ensnared many a thread on the bedclothes in the night
grew to proportions out of control
spiked the very fabric of her life
Stalwartly Sally strolled onward through her days
one foot then the other in a blissful, mindless in haze
conversed with the earth,
Sally plodded her trusted soles
taking along her real wounds
her weary, unhealed soul
Sally marched in blistering sun, rain, sleet and snow
she sauntered until her hangnail grew itself quite old.
over time and measured ground
as galling things will do
Sally’s snag worked its way up, out and through
now Sally’s soles are worn
her soul has seen the dawn
She continues to walk
with a certain smirk
just as if she never knew.

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