Model

In quiet studios where light does play,
A model stands, a living display,
Her posture poised, a silent line,
A canvas brushed with grace design.

She moves like tide on Brighton’s shore,
Each step a rhythm, soft yet more—
A fleeting echo of the scene,
Where art and flesh convene serene.

Yet beyond the catwalk’s glossy sheen,
Lies another model, quiet, keen:
Equations sketched on chalk‑dust white,
Predicting storms, predicting light.

In labs where numbers softly sigh,
Models whisper of the sky,
Of climate’s sigh, of market’s sway,
Guiding choices night and day.

Both kinds of model, poised and true,
Reflect the world in varied hue—
One paints the body, one the thought,
Together showing what we’ve sought.

So here’s to those who stand or compute,
Who shape our view, who mute the brute,
In British spelling, plain and clear—
The model’s art, both far and near.