stepping in the poison ivy –
only felt the cool of green;
wasn’t ’til much later
that I felt its bite – so mean.
and now my wood so full of it;
can hardly venture in
without those leaves of toxin
burning later on my skin.
the choice before me
now seems clear –
avoid the wood completely
or make poison disappear.
I’m in the wood – I made the choice –
pull ivy by the root,
knowing I’ll itch later
is the price to pay – the fruit.
the rash won’t last forever;
that’s my mantra on repeat,
and so I keep on weeding
’til it’s safe to walk – bare feet.
defying atrophy 
I’m climbing the walls, just itching to know what this allegory is about. You were quite rash to write it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dearest Chado, the allegory is intentionally universal. We all have weeds to pull that will burn us in the process. If you want specifics, I’ll scratch your itch in a more private setting.
LikeLiked by 1 person