I would not trust the man
Who never walked into a door.
Or bumped into a table.
Or tripped upon the floor.

These men who never stub their toes
And stand aloft, (so grand!)
They stride unmarred by grass stains,
Yet never understand.

We cannot live on horses
That are themselves so high
That we forget that we’re all limbs
And limbs do go awry.

My friends, it’s tiny bumbles
Which make us all alike!
So trip upon your laces!
And stumble off your bikes!

And trust the man who fails
To attain Perfection’s throne
For he’s the man who when you fall
Won’t let you fall alone.