A Poem About Pottery

I'm an empty vessel ready to be

molded into the shape my creator desires for me.

Thank you for taking me from a soft clay,

into the beautiful art I'm today.

You put me through fire, I never thought I'd endure.

You pulled me out when I was sure

I'd melt to a puddle warped and obscure,

but I was made beautiful as you opened the door.

I felt a gentle breeze caress my shape.

The brittleness I felt has all gone away.

I stand proud of what I withstood,

I don't envy anything, not metal or wood.

I am who I am, molded from clay.

An empty vessel, I stand here today.

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