In heaven, stainless fountains of gold stream
Downwards amongst the rows of polished moulds.
Next to the groves of forges, the smiths gleam
Their grins with sincere pride, whilst their ore folds
Into the peerless portrait of a girl—
A Gregarious masterpiece they’ve grown.
The smiths toil and trouble themselves to swirl
Metal pools into the purest face known—
The artists give her life, they give her eyes,
They give her a heart which will never break.
Upon her they bestow a mind to surmise
The beauty that exists to all who wake.
The artisans bellow their booming pride—
Shouting sentiment with delight untied.
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