There where the sun is on the field
I walk aside its wheaten yield,
pathway strewn with golden ceding
of some growth beholden, deeding
violent gales to cast to earth
too soon to consummate rebirth,
some sterile grains of bread of life
beneath my feet a sacrifice.
Small death among the congregate
that feeds to us the common fate.
Categories:
deeding, allusion, analogy, seasons, sun,
Form: Rhyme
Coarse, featureless shards stagnating
Fodder for a discerning hand's mending
Putty strands their potential value bleating
For a potter's touch; new life entreating
Gentle hands rough surface massaging
Rubbery texture patting and preening
Carefully each lump, fold kneading
Instinctively more clay into mixture feeding
Pressing the mass around the wheel now speeding
Softly caressing, while each corner buttressing
Holpen hands new shape, form deeding
A spherical chalice deftly molding
Each cascading side symetrically scaling
Delicate fingers each crenelation each groove formulating
Peeling off excessive fragments, proportions receding
Moisture from the master's hand now bleeding
Patiently, a primitive, tidy colander forging
With rythmic, patterned movements shearing
An artistically, woven pot from the wheel emerging
A magestic artifact the maestroes skill divulging
Categories:
deeding, on work and working
Form: Verse