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Ode to a bronze. Ode to a bronze. What sculptor, in inspiration’s creative high, does not draw comfort from dear love’s pose. And cast to a glory of bronze is to deny, sad time’s limit and, in time, admiration grows. That she, in gentle seating is impressed in style, which graces the plinth for a world’s applause. For a sweeter look has that dear lady’s smile. Sweet statue that stands to test beauty’s cause. But in times dimension is there more royalty, to age a patina which loved hands would hold. The sculptor’s hands, to joys attest has loyalty, beyond auction’s bid is she to remain unsold. What hands give creation to this sculptured feel, this bronzed lady, this beauteous shaped appeal. |
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Nice to see you back Ron! I am off to tell Alfie you posted. Ann
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Great to see you back again, Ron. We've missed you.
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Hi Ron. It's nice to see you back. I hope your absence meant you were just busy with other things in life, and not that there have been hardships. I hope to see more of you. Be a prism, spreading God's light and love, not a mirror reflecting the world's hatred.
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Have you noticed Ron, how some bronzes entice you to stroke them, while others have a touch me not aura? I wonder if it happens because of different casting processes. Your bronze lady sounds so caressable. Hope that all is going well. 
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11/28/2017 5:20 pm |
Beautiful poem and I assume you wrote it.It seems like the writing of a very sensitive and caring person.
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