Fresh Clay
I'm what you may call fresh clay...
We've all at some point passed this way.
I'm cold, moist, soft, and tender, just waiting
to be held...
If I'm not held, molded, and shaped then
we all fail
Yes! I need a pair of clean, warm, loving hands...
If I can get this now, once my texture begins to set
I know I'll be able to stand
Too often, fresh clay like myself is left untouched.
But we later shake our hands when we can't
feel that old, dry, unshapely stuff that should've been reached
Time is of the essence; I really cannot wait...
So, someone, please! Send me a pair of warm, strong,
gentle hands, don't hesitate
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