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The Pottery. Jeremiah Ch. 18.

by Dennis Donald

I can't remember now, but it
was more than just a hunch
To go and visit Isaac in
his workshop after lunch.

But I recall that if I failed
to follow up what came,
The moment never would return
and life not be the same.

But why just now at Isaac's? And
why should this moment matter?
The wheel spun round as usual,
and the clay it's usual splatter.

Then, as I watched, a splendid vase,
unglazed, unfired, before
The potter's fingers crumpled. Failed.
A shapeless lump once more.

The potter took the failure. He
Just gathered up the mess.
He threw it on the wheel again.
This time, a great success.

As Isaac turned his gaze around
and gave the clay a prod,
It wasn't Isaac's eyes I saw.
It was the face of God.

ribbon
This poem was a finalist in the October 2016 poetry contest

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