E’en as the sculptor chisels patiently
The marble’s jagged edges, day by day,
Striving to smooth all blemishes away,
Till-when from ev’ry flaw the stone is free,
And naught save perfect contours does he see-
Embodied harmony and beauty may
Atone for all the weary hours’ delay,-
So Life, the sculptor, moulds unceasingly
The soul of man. How often in recoil
The spirit shrinks, nor can through prescience know
Of coming grace and majesty. ‘Tis willed
The scars should deeper be, until the toil
And chiseling are adequate; when lo!
God’s all-unfathomed plan is quite fulfilled.
– Henrietta Cordelia Ray
Lilith has always loved sculpting, but it wasn’t until the shelter in place that she really dove into it.
Not a scent of clay, but of creation: white sandalwood, tulsi, and Mitti attar.
(The sleepmask was a gift from her dad, and it’s so 2020 Appropriate.)
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