Formed by the artist’s solitary heart
Crafted with the truth of his great, fine art
In his chamber in the darkness of night–
Carved of white ivory by the fire’s blazing light–
A man who once scorned affection and desire
And mocked those making prayers on Venus’ pyre.
Creator did touch Stone’s cold hard flesh
And pray his love the goddess would bless.
For, though he’d spurned Cupid’s wicked bow
And arrow loosed for love to grow,
The lance had pierced his frozen chest
But could not bring a beat to his woman’s stony breast.
So for favour from the gods he did beseech
And hoped his whispers to their ears would reach.
He laid his head upon her skin,
Tears forlorn beading from his chin,
When, on his brow she left a kiss,
Leaving love where once was loneliness.