Unhappy with the women of his time,
disgusted by their loose and shameful lives,
he lived alone, renouncing loves and wives,
and carved a maiden out of slate and lime.
His wonderous artwork, christened Galatea,
he'd sculpted with such finely tuned precision,
each cut was clean, each slice was a decision.
But he found this was not a panacea:
he yearned to see the sway of her curved hips,
so kissed his self-hewn woman on the lips,
and begged that Venus breathe life in his girl.
Her stone turned flesh! But then he heard her garble
the words that still, today, leave men aswirl:
"I want a rock! A man that's made of marble!"