He stood at the edge of the lake 
Holding the stone firm in his hand 
Its surface smoothed, its luster dulled 
By the centuries that formed this land 

With a quick turn of his body 
And a precisely measured flick of his wrist 
He skipped the stone across the water 
And in satisfaction, clenched his fist 

It was a day of rare reflection 
Of the years that led him to now 
A day of total self-awareness 
Of a point reached in his lifelong vow 

He saw behind him the years of his struggle 
Of ridicule, rejection and pain 
He saw the moments of his exaltation 
When his work projected his every aim 

He saw the reviews of modern critics 
Their words like lashes across his face 
That his figures of man were too heroic 
That in reality they held no place 

He saw the glow of light in the smile 
Of a young man who stopped to ponder 
At one of his statues in an obscure park 
And was left with a sense of worth and wonder 

It was his rare view of man's ability 
That fueled his motor to go on molding 
His sense of life, of man the heroic 
That allows no grounds for conforming or folding 

As he reached down to choose another stone 
He caught a glimpse of light on its surface 
He thought of a shape he would mold in the future 
And he knew with clarity that his life held purpose