The Master's Hands

The Master’s Hands

By Steven Bates 3 May 2023

How happy then, wet clay must be

Within the potter’s hands

To be molded, shaped, so carefully,

For the potter understands

That within this lump of clay there lies

A creation none can see

But somehow thru the potter’s eyes

There’s beauty naturally

He molds, caresses, shapes the clay

To bring out what it conceals

And somehow, by the end of day

Its beauty, he reveals

So we should be just like that lump

Knowing treasure lies within

Regardless if we’re in a slump

It’s the Master’s hands we’re in.