Sculptor

In chambers lit by candle's glow, A sculptor stands, with brow alight, Where visions grand begin to flow, From marble cold, a form takes flight. With hammer's tap and chisel's grace, He breathes life In chambers lit by candle's glow, A sculptor stands, with brow alight, Where visions grand begin to flow, From marble cold, a form takes flight. With hammer's tap and chisel's grace, He breathes life into, a human face. Like Michelangelo, with hands so sure, He captures form in perfect lines, A David bold, forever pure, Or Venus fair, with form divine. The sculptor's mind, a sacred well, From which all beauty breaks its shell. He tames the stone, its roughness fades, Emerging smooth, a flawless guise, Emotion etched, into light and shades, A story told in sculpted sighs. The mind's a kiln where beauty burns, A Renaissance, each statue yearns. , a human face. Like Michelangelo, with hands so sure, He captures form in perfect lines, A David bold, forever pure, Or Venus fair, with form divine. The sculptor's mind, a sacred well, From which all beauty breaks its shell. He tames the stone, its roughness fades, Emerging smooth, a flawless guise, Emotion etched, in light and shades, A story told in sculpted sighs. The mind's a kiln where beauty burns, A Renaissance, each statue yearns.