Friday, April 1, 2016


by Cheryl Merrick

The potter approaches his bench,
Taking a lump of clay,
He slams it hard against the surface.
Oh pain?  Did I really volunteer for this?
The preparation has begun.
The clay must be smooth
To take form and survive the firing.
So as, as he stretches, cuts, and pounds,
I complain, bemoan, then finally,
submit in faith,
To be worked, shaped by the vision,
of the Master Potter

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