My child, you are a marble block.
A pure and frozen rock.
I, with my tools in my hands
will make a Venus out of you.
A Grecian statue of delicacy.
I will make your eyes shine through the pearly surface
with a chisel held gently in my hand
I will carefully chip away as in caresses,
I will take you far, you will not recognize your cumbersome self.
You will be a romantic model, a goddess of stony ice.
But I will not sculpt hastily or chisel roughly.
One false stroke and my creation falls
to dust among the dirt.
-Pamplemousse
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