For permanent perfection
We often seem to strive;
This smooth and simple fiction
Eludes us while alive.
But while we seek the stable
Our lives continue on,
Achieving what we're able
With means to soon be gone.
A funny thing occurs, though:
The perfect flees away,
While temporary things go
On growing every day.
It seems the world we live in
Is simply too complex
To ever really give in
To "shoulds" that end in wrecks.
But things that aren't important
Enough to rigidly
Stay fixed, or even dormant,
Adapt successfully.
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