The world is full of imperfections. Every winding brick path, every creaky wooden door, every torn flower petal, every smiling face. The world is full of beauty. A red leaf blowing down the winding brick bath. Intricate woodwork on the creaky wooden door. A hungry caterpillar on the torn flower petal. Creases around the eyes of the smiling face. Beautiful imperfections.
This poem is about: