The Bust

The bust was made a of marble, A replica so true. With features carved so lifelike, That emotions shone through too Beneath the bloom of marble, I am sure that there must be, Pulsing veins to give it life, With red blood flowing free. The sculptor used his chisel, To petrify his wife. Knowing that his efforts, Would give her eternal life. This beautiful creation, Would retain its inner light, When both of them had wrinkled, And succumbed to life's long fight. So the sculpture and his lady Took a lifetime to compare, Every extra wrinkle, From her neckline to her hair! Ivor G Davies