Poetry

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I love the feel of the wet clay,
I look forward to these days.
I love how the clay lies in My hand,
how it shapes at My command.

Adding the water, plying the pressure.
knowing My work of good measure,
I let it spin as I keep it.
All complete is how I see it.

It is finished in My heart,
even now here at the start.
Vase so beautiful in My eye,
Love it so much, I could die.

With the water, I pour some blood,
completing the work of all My love.
Tears in My eyes, My heart is yearning,
I am loving what I am doing.

I let the tears fall on the clay,
marking the end of another day.
I await, sure of realization,
to see the fruit of My salvation.

Confident of this very thing,
for I know what I bring.
In the clay the promise is kept
My promised work is fully met.

© 3-19-09

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