I’ve marveled at his handiwork across the earth so wide And found no place that hadn’t felt his hand Through the canyons and the deserts, from the mountain tops he passes Carving so much beauty in the land. And it’s rare a day goes by that he doesn’t catch my eye With another of the works that he has planned. For the earth owes so much beauty to that artist of the land, The one I’ve come to know as the Master Sculptor. I traveled to the desert just to see the works he’d fashioned And even though he rarely could be found, I saw the deepest canyons, in rocks that showed the ages, And samples of his passing all around. And at the bottom he’s still working, in a gorge of polished granite He’s been carving for a couple million years. Some say this is his masterpiece, but me, I love them all… Every work that’s done by that master sculptor. I traveled to a valley hidden deep inside the mountains; Steep and wide, majestic to behold Though it seemed so very different from the canyons that he carves, His style is very different when it’s cold For his hand is huge and heavy, in a mass of frozen motion, He picks up rocks to help his grinding flow And thus he carved the mountains, the fjords and deepest valleys. An Ice Age couldn’t stop that Master Sculptor. They say he likes to take his time, and doesn’t try to hurry Like so many of the people that I know. But sometimes his work is sudden, in a flood of inspiration, He shapes the earth in one swift roaring blow. Deep into the earth he gashes, carries boulders just like sand. In a moment, does the work of many years. And sometimes his works are massive, and sometimes they are small. You can tell he’s done them all, that Master Sculptor. His work is in his flowing, as he makes his many homes Only just to leave them, one by one. And he never must be satisfied with anything he’s made For his work is always changing, never done. In all its changing beauty, his design is always simple; He lets the earth just tell him where to go. His home is in the ocean, and he travels in the rivers. And Water is his name. He’s a Master Sculptor.
© Tom Shindler 1975