Engraving Poem by Frank Avon

It was the line
that captivated him,
without shadow or shading,
purity of outline,
the line of beauty,
scientific tools and specimens,
the boldness of antiquities:
Rafael & not Rubens,
the Apollo Belvedere,
Venus de Medici,
fine muscularity,
graceful folds of drapery,
Durer's rhinoceros,
'Melancholia, '
the Savior walking in a tulip.

So, at age fourteen,
he was apprenticed to practicality,
for seven years,
around the corner from Covent Garden,
across the street from a Freemason's Hall,
to learn the Language of Art:

'Oh, that my words...
were graven with an iron pen
and lead in the rock forever.'