ON PERFECTION
The moon was a crescent ornament
On the ebony curtain of night
Hung by a master scene maker
A mesmerizing sight.
I could not take my eyes off it.
It glued me to the screen
Too perfect for my mortal eyes
Unused to a flawless scene.
We need limits to our horizons
Some rain in desert climes.
Our heroes are not paragons
Nor our ointments without flies.
So I’ll welcome a cloudcast moon
And not expect heaven too soon.
Leave a Reply