As maestros conduct, potters shape,
With sensual batons and swirling clay,
With music flowing and sound taking over,
With dancing minds and rhythmic feet,
With poetic hands and knowing fingers,
With love revered and love utilized,
With tender hearts and commanding minds,
With wild chanting and silence preserved,
With iron gavels and velvet cushions,
With love impassioned and love committed,
With confidence streaming and destinies met,
With an ode to labor and love combined,
‘Til the consummation is the
embodiment of that love carried out
By the hands of the potter, the vessel.
This poem was written when I visited my daughter's pottery class.