“I am a vessel formed at the Potter’s wheel”
Words of a child of God tempered with life’s
experiences
I am made of clay, of colored
Earth
A vessel formed at the Potter’s
Wheel
Making me, baking me,
Perfect and good
******
Fallen from the hand of the
Potter I become marred,
Taking His paddle with a
Scoop of clay, tempering
Me on His spinning
Wheel, the process hurts
The rotating force, the
Circular motion making
Me dizzy,
The knife of the Potter
Scrapes away the unneeded
Clay, baking me again in
The oven until I am done,
A new vessel in the hand
Of the Potter!
Donna's Poetry Blog 