By Bob Dougherty
Sitting upon a block of stone,
Chin resting on one wrist,
Unblinking eyes cast deep in thought,
What is his earnest quest?
Many millions have wondered what?
Yet, only one man knew.
The sculptor, Rodin, left this form,
To grasp us with one view.
The Thinker, really does not think,
A cast bronze piece of art.
Evoking questions from us all,
What force does it impart?
The ever question of Rodin,
In bronze so still resides.
The after questions of us all,
Stir like the rushing tides.
Sitting upon a block of stone,
Chin resting on one wrist,
Unblinking eyes cast deep in thought,
What is his earnest quest?
Many millions have wondered what?
Yet, only one man knew.
The sculptor, Rodin, left this form,
To grasp us with one view.
The Thinker, really does not think,
A cast bronze piece of art.
Evoking questions from us all,
What force does it impart?
The ever question of Rodin,
In bronze so still resides.
The after questions of us all,
Stir like the rushing tides.
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