THE PERFECT POTTER the imperfect clay

HE has lifted it from the potters wheel the broken vessel of clay
Still damp to the touch with tears smeared and void of any shape
A specimen not fit to mend or exist in any way
On the POTTERS wheel still spins the imperfect lump of clay
A craft not fit to fix
to give
to live
or to behold
Yet HE lifts it, shapes it, changes it, and then HE breaks the mold
Every imperfection
Every break in the clay HE knows
Still HE lifts it, shapes it, and changes it, until HE has made it whole
HE is not discouraged when molding despite the difficulty
HE only sees the clay for what it can one day be
What others toss aside or quickly put away
HE diligently works and crafts to put it on display
HE is the PERFECT POTTER i am the imperfect clay.