This mound of clay
Soft and cold
Will soon feel the warmth of your hands
It will bend and yield
To your intent
Only if
At first
You listen
To what it wants to say
To its untold story
Give it a name
Talk to him, her, they
Be honest with your intentions
Water and air
Are his, her, their friends
In the kiln
Fire will make
Him, her, them remember
The memory of your touch
zarahG 9.6.21
Walang komento:
Mag-post ng isang Komento