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No Matter How Long You Search For Perfect

By thetruthawaits94, Duncan, OK

He lay in his bed
Top hat still on his head,
Thought he needed water
But he called me instead,
He tapped on his brim and said,

Everyone has their ticks and tocks,
Their rusty bolts,
And creaky locks,
They have leaking pipes,
And holes in their socks

The hat on his head revealed
His last grays as he stuck it on mine,
He in his robe, our hands intertwined,
I patiently listened as he began to explain,

Look down the line
Of one’s ancestry,
Never find it perfectly,
Clean of all life’s miseries,
There is no medicine
To cure all of one’s needs,
Nor are machines’

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