In his obsession with perfection
And battles to the bitter end
He always had the upper hand
Over compassion and affection
Until, against all his beliefs
His inner self committed treason -
He cried, for no apparent reason
Over a heap of fallen leaves
With muddy feet and flooded senses
He stood under a dripping sky
A perfectly imperfect guy
All of a sudden lost in tenses
*)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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