Rare she is…
20 Karats of an onyx, in the rough
Sturdy enough to be mounted,
But too coarse and unrefined to be adorned.
Yet, within the cold heart of this stone,
I sense a spark that yearns to be a flame.
My initial desire to mold her to my taste is subdued by this inner light,
So, instead of wielding a hammer and chisel, I am lured to coax and sand…
In order to soften her edges with much finer instruments of persuasion,
That merely uncovers the latent beauty of the stone
Rather than strip her
Of what makes her
An onyx woman.
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