A formable lump of clay,
sprung from the earth
more or less formed than many
of less or much more worth
the elements within are one,
though emerged from different lands,
and a certain profundity exists in each
debilitating grain of sand
that keeps the clay from rising perfect
within the creator’s hands.
And the storms hover and melt away
superficial textures fine,
but the artist certainly carves them again
with the same love in his eye,
and the lump of clay grows even finer
with the calamities of time.