Perfection is the oldest foe of peace

Anything worth doing is worth doing well, they said..
But perfection is the oldest foe of peace
And failure can be fun….and losses do make you learn
So one day, I promised not to cry
Over dented pottery
Or overrunning paint
Or burnt bread loaves
Or unpunctuated verses
Or off-key tunes
Now I laugh
At my mud-caked fingers
As I smudge the reds and the blues
As over-salted curry stings the tongue
As my voice cracks over high notes
Because it means I could empathize with the potter
And learn how to hold the brush or the ladle or the mike