The Parable of The Artist:

There once was an artist. He was known throughout the whole land as a master his trade. The Artist (as he will be known from now on) lived alone in a small house, which he used as his studio. The Artist lived alone because every woman he ever met never could "understand" him.

The Artist had made a good living selling his art. From paintings to sculptures, he had created masterpieces for those in the land. Still, The Artist had never found what he was put on this earth to do. Masterpiece after masterpiece, he felt as if he was getting closer and closer to his personal masterpiece.

One day, The Artist was trying to decide on his next work. He had a number of ideas floating around in his mind, but he could not pick between them. He called upon his friend in the nearby town. His friend suggested the idea that The Artist had a long time ago; to do "The Pleasure That Abideth For A Moment." The Artist agreed, and began planning to create the piece.

The Artist settled on a sculpture. He also decided that it must be in bronze. "For bronze," he said to himself, "Is just as pleasing to the eye, yet not as valuable as silver or gold. Thus, the pleasure for a moment' persona will be complete."

The Artist then began searching his house for a suitable piece of bronze. Yet he had no bronze unused in his house. The Artist then went into town to find bronze, yet he had no luck. It was as if all the bronze in the world had completely disappeared. It was as if the gods themselves were doing this just to spite The Artist.

The Artist went home with his heart broken. How was he to know whether or not this was the piece he was born to make? Should he allow this to escape from his grasp, or should he just settle for some other medium? No, that was not going to happen. He envisioned this piece in bronze, therefore it must be in bronze.

The Artist sat in his favorite chair, the chair that he always sat in to solve his problems. He pondered his predicament, and all the possible solutions. Then he looked before him, and saw the answer to his problem.

In his entire career, there was one piece that The Artist did not sell. Rather, no one wanted to buy it. It was a sculpture entitled "The Sorrow That Endureth Forever." And it was made of bronze. The Artist knew what he had to do.

So, The Artist took his tools, and began to sculpt his new work from the body of his earlier work. The Artist worked day and night, only taking the shortest breaks to eat and sleep. He worked nonstop, until finally, his work was done.

The Artist had sculpted "The Pleasure That Abideth For A Moment" from "The Sorrow That Endureth Forever."

"My masterpiece is done." The Artist said.

The End.