That Sweet Face

Who's is that sweet female face? A beauty like that does not exist in my world. There, women are less perfect, yet more comely, they spellbind with their imperfections. Yet, if I were a painter I would attempt to capture that ideal. Something to strive for, without which, we are towers of conceit, laying waste to ourselves. The sculptor prays to his hands that he might translate her from his mind, but try as he might something crumbles between his reach and the clay he touches. The same for the female sculptor who tries to capture her inner vision. What is that sweet face? Only God knows, and She only tells you when you fail and fail yet again.