The Quest

Perfection is a fleeting bird;
Never sitting still.
It knows no perch;
Builds no nest.
It has no shoes to fill.

Its greedy talon reaches out,
But holds no olive branch.
We try to capture its true worth,
But there is little chance.

No matter how we strive or strain
Or just how close it seems,
Perfection only dwells within
The sanctum of our dreams.

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