In Firenza, the square there,
replicated he stands, as
a monument, to man-god-incarnation.
Let him speak, the sculptor said,
after chiselling away unwanted
marble. Let him speak.
Couture sculptor,
fashionistas, divine
made flesh, this Easter,
incarnate.
What fashion does is
making mystery real,
taking man from marble
tomb,
making beauty speak,
hush, don't speak.
you only need to look.
Its a divine thing.
Ah! fashion is David with clothes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem