Pygmalion the sculptor, well known throughout the land,

Was enamored of a woman, one carved by his own hand.

His statue Galatea such beauty did exude

That he fancied her the zenith of female pulchritude.

The sculptor, deeply troubled that his statue had no life,

Entreated Aphrodite to give him for a wife,

If not his Galatea, then one who looked the same.

His spirit leapt within him when three times leapt the flame.

At home he rushed to see her, the treasure of his heart,

And scarcely kept composure as the statue’s lips did part.

Then spoke his Galatea, blood coursing through her veins:

"Come hither, dearest husband; the goddess thus ordains."

I cannot sculpt, o Goddess, so please don't legislate