THE POTTER AND THE CLAY
I am a piece of clay,
And the work of those who shape me,
Will be judged and they will be liable.
For on a person’s potting wheel,
I can be punched and pounded.
My being may become distorted,
And I will not be well rounded.
I can be molded beautifully when,
On the Master’s wheel I am poured.
A flaw may appear or a total collapse,
But I can be restored.
Over time a pattern is formed,
It is never just a straight line.
Each person I’ve ever known,
Will add to the design.
Each acquaintance will add a mark.
Motive will inspire each spot.
Let’s just hope the ones who destroy,
Will only leave a dot.
All are owned by the Master Potter;
We are dust formed into clay.
Each us has his own potter’s wheel,
And our work will be judged someday.
Pressure must be applied in the process,
And “the pot” will be tested by fire.
But for those who spent time in the Master’s hands,
A true work of art will transpire.
Becky Wall
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