The slat is set too high, I nod,
One cant reach it with hands or rods,
This fact creates a lot of mess,
Illusions fail and hopes collapse.
One works in vain and wants too much,
It leads from friends to foes as such.
Perfection is a dream- my brain
Tells to the heart,- just draw the rein.
I dont believe and look around,
The slat is always up the ground.