Sluggabed
She did not wake this morning, nor this afternoon, nor eve,
And all this week she’s spawning ev’ry dream she can conceive,
And the daylight still she’s scorning for the visions she shall weave,
Till her health begins its pawning for the means to stall her leave.
The poem is not about a statue, but I do like this sculpture.
Rhyming Couplets 