Paddling, hurling, bobbing, whirling with increasing pace
Carefully He shapes it as delicately He feels,
Touching, holding, smoothing, molding with the fingertips of grace.
It rises to His vision on the dizzying, spinning wheel.
With tender touch and tiny blade perfect lines He traces,
Carving out its form in a dozen glistening places.
Now the hidden beauty in the earthen crock’s revealed.