Song of perfection
what was wrought
in that ancient era
of
controlled irregularity
and did it so create
a purity and a calm
in this world of inadequacy of crookedness
I sit and paint a picture
of her face and spill
with grace a line
so
like a spot on
the pottery of old
for she's perfection
in her imperfection a lovely flower never to wilt
Ah, could I be a wise
and remain ever still
be tranquil my heart
as
she crosses paths
this pallid poetess
and warms hearts
Demystified Forty five
© 2022-02-23
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