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Perfection, Perfection
by Kilian McDonnell
("I will walk the way of perfection." Psalm 101:2)
I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.
Gone.
As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you
in.
It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green
joy.
Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its
birth.
Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks
it can't be won, concedes the
war.
I've handed in my notice,
given back my keys,
signed my severance check, I
quit.
(The rest of the poem is at The Writer's Almanac.)
This poem is my new anthem. Those goals I posted a couple of days ago? I'm going for approximation. Baby steps. A little bit at a time. Balance. Perfection might kill me, but the plodding pace of approximation is doable.
Ben, at The Small Nouns, has the roundup today.
This poem is my new anthem. Those goals I posted a couple of days ago? I'm going for approximation. Baby steps. A little bit at a time. Balance. Perfection might kill me, but the plodding pace of approximation is doable.
Ben, at The Small Nouns, has the roundup today.
