Daughters of Stone: The Kore

In marble bloom, she stands so still,

A maiden shaped by sculptor’s will,

With braided hair and almond eyes,

She gazes through the centuries’ skies.

No voice to tell her sacred name,

No whisper of the artist’s fame,

Yet grace flows through her chiseled frame,

And beauty burns without a flame.

Clothed modest in a flowing peplos,

A goddess not — but close, almost.

She bears a gift, a fruit, a flower,

An offering to ancient power.

To Artemis, Athena, Demeter’s halls,

She walks the temple’s silent walls.

Not flesh, but stone with soul imbued,

A frozen hymn, a prayer renewed.

Once painted bright in vivid hue,

Now pale beneath the timeless blue.

But still she stands, serene, composed —

A mystery the earth has posed.

So here she waits with marble grace,

Time’s winds may touch, but not erase,

For in her stillness, Greece is heard —

A quiet past, in stone conferred.