The embodiment of  imagination,
A dream, once seen by the sculptor.
The chisel and the hammer(the love child of two),
A catastrophe or the finest creation.

Polished skin with a little tint of moss,
Augmentation of the ether's divine.
Gods that were entrapped to that beauty,
Cursed her down, only to be preserved inside.

I stand and gawk, allured by the surreality,
Starstruck when I  pondered it.
Beauty lies where beauty bind,
Oh, was she the one staring me?

Before the song of the earliest bird,
Before the sun descends on the frost,
If a fairy were to sprinkle some life,
We would dance past this mundanity,
Oh! another tragedy of time.

But it was too late,
Too late I say.
Abandoned by her father,
No wish to make.

So I  sit beside her,
To make the loneliness still.
Until the morning comes,
Until she doesn't need me.