The Carver


Stone facing,
A chip and file together,
Slow forming.

A chip falls
Measured to the hammer stroke;
A bird calls.

And pausing
To listen to melody;
Then filing.

Lines in stone,
Smooth to form the beautiful;
Her alone.

Smooth, dust flecks;
Cloaked from sight in gray cloth;
To protect.

Gloom 99

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