isn't it a burden, i asked,
to wear a robe made of stone?
hewed from the cleft of the rock;
and chiseled to cover your nakedness.
it must bear heavily, i thought,
down on your delicate shoulders;
dragging on your beautiful hair;
clinging tightly on your fragile frame.
yet in your effortless poise, i marveled,
even if draped in a concrete prison.
you stood unwavering, smiling, statuesque,
looking most transcendent in your disposition.