| Sculptors chisel in his hand he chips the granite from the block The pieces fall unheeded to the floor He wishes it were sandstone, so simple and so soft So much easier to form the wanted core But this granite is resistant, defiant as it stands Holding form no angled blow can change in haste And he wonders if it's worth it, if the time he has to waste Will create a thing of beauty in his hands |
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Page Design all words, poetry and graphics unless otherwise stated Copyright �2000/2001 Koalaghost Design/Imaginattic WebWorks "Waterfall" Photograph Copyright �2000 Bush Photos. Used with permission. All Rights Reserved |
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| Standing back he views it critically, considering the form The way the quartz flecks sparkle in the sun Light and shadow play it's surface, some parts chisel-worn Still beautiful despite the damage done Runs his hand across it's pitted sides, it's corners rough Ceases all the endless sculpting to refine it to his taste Finds comfort in it's solid strength and pleasure in it's touch And leaves it stand, unchallenged in it's place. |
| sculptor |
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