Just in me, perfection

There was one,

very dear, who sought

in me, perfection.

When else-times, she could find

in herself and embrace oh so well;

so much, a compassionate soul.

All those nearly lost dogs,

damaged children,

endless grey graduated days

and other odd shaped concepts;

super-marketed vegetables,

wrapped misshape seconds.

For she, was a deep thinker too.

Just so, like me,

but loved not oddly.

In her very particular way,

perhaps too much,

to simply hold the 'imperfect' me.