Il semble que la perfection soit atteinte non quand il n'y a plus rien à ajouter, mais quand il n'y a plus rien à retrancher.
Here is Henry wandering along Seven Mile Beach, on Hobart's eastern shore. He was looking for something, but was not quite sure what it was.
I have a new concept to introduce today, the thirty second poem. It's an innovation sure to take the world by storm!
Perfect
Nobody’s perfect.
Well, there was
this one guy.
But,
I killed him.
He was
making me look bad.
Comments
And I quite like the poem.
The poem is very nice :-D...perfecto...
Exactly how many languages do you know!?
Love Henry's pic as usual.
With regards to my linguistic skills, I addressed that matter some time ago... [My answer is in the first of the comments.]
The poem was way funny...
The poem is a hoot.
"Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For Him......."
P.S.: Do let me know what he says to that :))