Pottery Class

"Oh, I can't wait! To get in my sweet baby's arms," My professor would exclaim At the end of each day In pottery class. She was a tall, beautiful woman; He was a down to earth fellow, And his vine was fruitful With children at home and In pottery class. His heart was full of love And lessons of art and life. His heart had been changed Through a boating accident he said In pottery class. Jesus saved his soul And by crushing the stony parts Made a vessel of glory. Then he gave me a warning In pottery class. He saw my arrogance And a need for humility and said I would fall if I did not submit; But he was hoping for my growth In pottery class. He prayed for us each morning And read to us each Christmas; He would weep before us. His faith carried us to Christ In pottery class. He showed his affection To us and his family and did not hide His adoration for his wife At any art exhibition or In pottery class. He said she was patient, And I could see all her kindness. I remember him saying How good she was to him In pottery class. So I want him to know, If he ever wonders while waiting In his sweet baby's arm... That he did what was good and right In pottery class. Dedicated to Mr. Benson