Your noble beard is now just white dust, <br />and age will still crumble your stoic dignity. <br />The graves you served as mute guardian of grief, <br />are now, like your eye sockets, paintless and empty. <br /> <br />Every hammer blow of some weary slave <br />chipped away layers of lies to reach your face. <br />I only hope, as bright colors fade from my view, <br />I may be so polished to my native sunburst stone.<br /><br />Daniel Brick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-ancient-roman-bust-minneapolis-institute-of-the-arts/
