Potters’ Poetry
Down by glen’s edge
Clay forms amongst the stream’s bank
I gather and begin to form
Forming the shapes, I see in the dark
Until the kiln radiates heat that matches my yearning
As a poet expels the words that are trapped within
So, the potter touches until his hands hold what his mind sees
A figurine emerges emanating divine radiance
Just as on the first day
Our eyes met amidst sunlight so warm
Her look as emerald glass
She was first to glare upon my soul
Then kissed the solar light only to scorch my memory with delight
Underneath the apple blossom tree
With a fragrance that filled the space between
So decided the Potter to put her form for me to behold
Re...