Michelangelo
Where if not in the mind
does beauty lie ?
Who sees the puckered rose
who sees the pursed pout
of her lips primed for a kiss ?
And so the white swan drifts
through my consciousness
where the sun rises and sets
and the river never runs dry
Who sees and yet fails to see
the truth of the beauty of life ?
Out of the subtle stone
of Carrara the artist draws
the beauty of his soul
sets it in the palpitating
folds of his imagination
John Lyons