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Perfection is not what we are. It is what we've tasted and know inside. It is what we long for, live for, die for See in our friends and share As best we can Without denying what we are. Perfection is a gift Given and received by fools Who fear and falter But never forget What they once were What they are sure To find. Perfection is the child of hope The mother of all design. It lives and breathes in quantum land In eternities of sand. Perfection sings when we're in tears Forgives our growing years Appears and disappears. It flickers, but all the same It glows from ear to ear. Perfection is a better world. Not perfect, by any means It is a tangle of evolving things. |