The morning sun shone warm upon the place
Where first I spied your blushing countenance.
Your presence devoided my steps of grace.
You shone pink with innocent radiance.
With passing days the bond between us grew,
Feelings deepened as higher the flame leapt.
It was such a deep-felt thing, then I knew
Such a strong tie could not always be kept.
With saddened steps and a languoring gait
I trudged through the long sanatory halls.
We clung together on the brink of fate.
The time grew ever short; destiny called.
With slice of surgeon’s knife, I winced, and paled,
And mourned for thee, my dear ingrown toenail.
© Matthew P.D. Johnson