Poem: Mold the Clay

view From the Front Porch Porch

Mold the Clay

I took the clay—

So soft and pliable,

Pushed and molded—

Impressions reliable!

 

Set it aside

‘til it grew cold.

Now it is set

With nowhere to go.

 

Blessed with a child

So clean and pure.

Gave him to God

To clean and cure.

 

Only a short while

With which to mold.

Yet, still reflects

His training of old.

 

Martha Nored

April 1, 2008

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6 Comments

  1. Worthy thoughts. We need a generation of thoughtful, godly potters and sculptors. Do you remember what prompted this poem? Thanks for sharing, Mom.

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