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Lexington Poetry Month



Perfection cannot be predetermined,
It is a transient phenomenon, a discreet sojourn;
It’s arrival is no more important than its departure;
Yesterday, perfection rode in on the pounding hooves of carefully bred equine,
It survived the gusting wind by holding tight to our conversations,
It presented itself as herbed butter at dinner and as yellow wild flowers along the drive home;
Yesterday happened to be perfect

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