Life may be started as with clay
To be molded by our Creator
Who gently pats each turn, each curve,
Not in haste to create a judgement
Twisting softness into random,
With gusts of breath called life
Thereby, masses as clay
Assume persona unseen, untold,
Design of Creator's wisdom, part undone,
With finishing patinae called for
Realizing that clay in mass
Is only elegant with humanity
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