Deep in a hidden forest,

where darkness is more than black, 

a hidden sculpture emerges 

and shows all that it does lack.

 

Unkempt hair, a jigsaw smile, 

her face was full of misgivings.

Her body raw and her heart numb,

the sculpture is removed of feelings.

 

A multicolor neck and a noose of pearls,

one can’t see her sculptor’s intention.

While the artist molds his work,

her beauty goes without mention.

 

The forest darkens; the day feels pale,

and the artist has done his fair share.

He leaves the sculpture by the tree, 

full of beauty but robbed of care.

 

Beauty is all he makes and all he knows,

yet she knows the others and their fates.

He’ll live to regret his opus,

for his sculpture no longer waits.

 

As he leaves the dreary darkness, 

his sculpture follows him home,

and as he rests at his kitchen table, 

the clay army warns he’s no longer alone.

 

Sculptures of past and present,

ladies from the forest and the lake,

resculpt the hated sculptor

and prove they too can build and break.