Treasure Island

Francis Duggan


I've Yet To Meet One Who Is Perfect


I've yet to meet one who is perfect most of us are flawed in some way
Though some of us more flawed than others of what is obvious I only do say
Suppose we are not meant to be perfect a perfect one would be a living saint
Most of us corrupted in some way even most of the good have some character taint
The Human World is success driven to greatness so many to do aspire
Suppose it says something about us the people we choose to admire
Truly great people devote their lives to helping others without thought of self or renown
Such people are not looked on as heroes not even in their own Hometown
True heroes work in refugees camps helping those of the lesser god
The war victims of drought ravaged Lands the Stateless and Homeless and downtrod
The people who help them great people they work for them without honour or pay
Yet they remain as the unsung heroes of our Human World of today
I've yet to meet one who is perfect though a minority less flawed than most
Yet the true heroes remain as unsung and to them I do propose a toast.

Submitted: Friday, May 22, 2009

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (I've Yet To Meet One Who Is Perfect by Francis Duggan )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]