ARTISTIC SCULPTORS

They see in a large piece of rock or stone
A picture of some large bird in flight,
Or see a man wrestle with a lion,
Both straining with all their might.

They see in a rock of a smaller size
All sorts of wonderful things
A perfect squirrel to fit on my hand,
May be a loon with outstretched wings

Yet I look at the same rock
And I can feel of its warmth within,
But I cannot let the creature out,
I would not know where to begin.

But give to a sculptor a paper
And maybe he could not write a line.
He creates his type of beauty
And I create mine.

M Ann Margetson Dec 22 1998 ©

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