Stepping back to view his work,
The master craftsman duly gloats.
No other has the skill,
Perhaps none ever will.
Amidst this proud preening glee
He spots something as it should not be
A crack, a split a great divide,
A blemish on his statues side.
He grips his hair and shakes it out
Rubs his eyes and rubs his mouth
Selects a mallet and casts it down
Smashing the statue to the ground.