Sculptress Poem by royness ( ' ' )

Her lover was a haggard, weathered
statue, worn and undefined.
Time
had stiffened him. He was
unmoving, ugly
and stubborn as a rock.

She worked on him, night and day –
chiselled away at his features, removing
all those unnecessary segments –
creating definition,
smoothing out the lines.


In time, she would make him perfect.


Little by little,
she begins to leave her mark –
a figure takes form within the stone.

With expert hands, she guides
tiny hammers into crevices –
svelte fingers find the lines of his face.

She uncovers his eyes. He watches
as she polishes. A hand appears –
she takes it in hers,
carves in a smile –


You are my rock, my dear
In time you will be perfect.