Description

Down by glen’s edge Clay forms amongst the stream’s banks 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 Recollection so revered to me As her skin shined softly soothing my sight And yet without words bespoken A voice was heard like that of poetry Gaze upon this enchanted being Words nor form Can contain beauty created in the Potter’s kiln