Life

Life is a lump of clay:
cold and hard.
But as the hands
of the creator,
molds it into dreams,
it turns into pieces or pottery.
Beautiful bowls for holding fruit or
vases for holding, pretty blooming flowers.
But if not the creator, sees the worth,
the piece of clay will go hard & dry.
And then life will pass on by.
♠ ♠ ♠
If this poem gets fixed the right way on the site, you'll actually notices that it makes a vase.