The Potter's Doll

Written by: gautami phookan

'Twas  years  ago,  my  little  potter  girl,
  Her  tiny  hands had shaped  a  lump  of  clay.
   Little  fingers  in  artistic  moves  swirled,
    Sculpting  the  wet  earth  for  many a day.
     With a single  thought  that  for her mother it was..
      A  girl, a  fusion  of  kitten and a bird,
       Grave  thoughts, them she would whittle away.
        So  tranquil,  so  composed  her  art;
            Wondered  how  this  figure  she'd  carved...
               Gently as she  lifted  it  out  from her box,
                 Uncovered  her  treasure,  A  Clay  Doll--
                   Like  an  unpainted  relic,  raw in  form.
                     She  sat  with  hands  folded  in  her  lap,
                        The  swell  of  her  long  skirt  falling  around.                     
                         Unsmoothen'd  hair was  tied  in  a  knot,
                          From  her  ears  drooped  two  little  round  bobs.
                          On  her  face  she  had  put  a  nose,
                           On  her  bosom  had  placed  a  whorled  rose.
                           Wasn't  surprised  that  her  inspiration,
                            As  spoke of Romulus-Remus and artifacts Harappan,
                              So  had  to  be  of  ancient  civilization.
                                 The  doll,  like a  figurine  from  antiquity,  
                                    An  image  of  her  purest  soul.
                                      Unglazed,  unburnished  form  of  earth.
                                         In  its  quaintness, a  rare  beauty.  
                                           Has  imprints  of  a  little  artist's  hands,
                                             Her  delicate  fluid  touch  on  clay.


For Charlotte Puddifoot's contest : "Enter the 1st, 2nd & 3rd Place Poems"

For nette's contest : " Anything Handmade"