Potter

Sand from backyard, Landed on potter’s table, moulded to clay. Thrown onto his wheel, Shaped with his hand, Caressed and tried, To make something, From nothing. His hand, mind everything, Revolved with the wheel, To give life to a mere clay. From the lumps of clay, Came out a beautiful object His great art was displayed. A potter, a chiseler, a sculptor, Possess great plans. The beauty they find, In sand and rock, Not obvious to others, Till it takes its form. We are clay in the hands of our creator, He continues to mould and shape. We need to trust and cling to him, The fate is not ours to choose, The creator knows what to do. And what is best for us.