perfectness

In Dec 1989, as I was a regular traveller & being busy with my job, I suddenly found myself always constantly trying my level best to do things as perfect as can be and so I wrote this poem :-

Brown skeleton of leaves are found,
In the forest that has whispering sound,
With a serenity of it's own,
Music can be heard so often.

Made by nature and the wind,
Their branches of trees dance in swings.
The forest is very forgetful,
It has the freedom of being peaceful.

All of these is it's independence,
Only if there never have been human interference,
In this part of the wilderness,
Lies world's most unfound perfectness!