I, the Sculptor

At first, it started as a rock
Misshapen, undefined, and new.
But as I worked, and began to concoct
Something inside it grew.

Its shape had become of its own
A pleasant and peaceful form.
Its potential still wasn’t quite known
But I knew it would survive the storm.

Before the dark clouds covered it up
I had finished my masterpiece.
It stood for a while in its pure beauty
But, perfect it would soon cease.

The rain came down in strong, dangerous sheets
One raging gust after another.
It withstood the pounding and the beats
But not without scars from the sunshine’s brother.

My masterpiece may still endure
Weathered, cracked, tattered, and torn.
You may not see it as it were
But one day it may be reborn.

For my love for you is the statue
That withstands the trials of time.