Qualms

Qualms, I've had too few to admit to you. Scruples quadrupled, I've had some doubts as well. Leaving me squeamish, uneasy, unwell. I fear my regrets will breed and accrue. Like palms, qualms are arrayed with spiral heads. Their tough, frilly spiky fronds need tuning. And rough scruples, misgivings need pruning, As the spikes can get in your eyes and beds. When qualms queue up like guests uninvited, Confront and challenge them with steely gaze. Eyeball to eyeball their gawk will erase, Like gatecrashes they'll leave when confronted. Qualms only succeed when you let them in. Nip them in the bud, before they begin.