The Ice Sculptor

Standing back
He surveys the block of Ice.
This would pose a mighty challenge
He knows.
But his masterful eye
Can see through its translucense.
Its soul is unmistakable
And it excites moves him
He has no desire to give it any shape
His purpose is to bring out its essence.
With a steady hand
And silent assiduity
He is unwavering conviction.
And with every thrust
Of chisel and hammer
He slogs to break the mould
It is seemingly relentless
Yet he senses its fragility
And he knows it's giving way.
With a final stroke of genius
He hears the glorious sound
Its cracked but not broken
He knows his job is done.
With caressing eyes
He gazes in awe
It is more beautiful than he had imagined
Vindicated at last
He smiles.