Don’t fix the world yet.

Its cries are my lover’s cries.

When the ship is repaired, and sails

My secret happiness dies.

Errors you see on street and pier

Keep officials busy, and these sighs

Are sad, but music, and she is here—

Who will disappear when that perfection

Due the world loosens all ties

To imperfect love, and winds blow in a new direction.

They are finding ways to make life better

So the young will mock the letter

I wrote to her a long time ago

Which made her fall in love with me, and so

I beg you, don’t change the arpeggio

To some new dance.

She will dance away, if she has a chance.

Don’t fix the world yet;

Her imperfect life is my life,

She is my mad and maddening wife—

Who loves me, and doesn’t know

How to escape me, how easily

With a brand new melody,

She could look at me, and wave goodbye, and go.





  1. Mr. Woo said,

    August 18, 2016 at 12:51 am

    I just love this. And the picture seems a perfect fit.

    • Mr. Woo said,

      August 18, 2016 at 12:59 am

      The first two lines, and the last seven have such a magical sorrow to them. The world has no problems. This poem reflects that devastating knowledge and celebrates it. The seeming imperfections make it worth living. Bravo Tom.

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