Today, I browsed this forlorn art museum
And stumbled upon a sculpture which I
was taken with. Obsidian faced and
Broad of broken back, so carved and smoothed were
His muscles etched, and cracked like spider's web.
His passionless visage worn by time passed
And in his shackled hands, there was Woman.
Alabaster faced, pale of slender waist
And she wore a demure smile on her lips.
Her skin appeared to me, untouched by time
And in each black hand, her tall heels held aloft
Then, half-way the forearm of her raised hand
Broken off the finger that dares point up.
On the gold placard, the piece was named: Man.