Imperfections Poem by Hell 'Farya
Imperfections
From dust was I first shaped,
Then set upon the scaffold high.
Had I but glimpsed this life in strife,
Would I not know thy labored sigh?
I feigned to miss thy cunning art,
Played the fool, all slack and slow.
Rail not, thou witless knave, depart—
Hast thou not learned what all must know?
That men like us are wrought with flaw,
No hand unmarred, no soul complete.
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7/22/2025 10:57:36 PM # 1.0.0
