A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
Standing high on your pedestal
Forever facing the sun, the moon, the stars, and the crowds.
Your lyre in hand,
Frozen in space,
Your song forever unsung.
Oh how it must feel to have a story made for you
And to not be able to tell it.
But you do anyway,
In the best way you can.
Words Worth While 
Lovely! I often look at statues and make up my own stories from the expression locked on their face or the way they are standing.
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I do too! It’s a fun pastime, and way more entertaining than just reading the story they were given by the artist, although that can be interesting in its own way.
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