Love Poem: Fresh Clay
Stewart  Watkins  Avatar
Written by: Stewart Watkins

Fresh Clay

I'm what you may call fresh clay.....
we've all at some time passed this way.

I'm cold, moist, soft, and tender, just waiting 
to be held.....
If I'm not held, molded, and shaped then 
we all fail

Yes!  I need a pair of clean, warm loving hands.....
If I can get this now, once my texture begins to set
I know I'll be able to stand

Too often fresh clay like myself is left untouched....
But we later shake our hands when we can't 
feel that old, dry, unshapely stuff that should've been reached

Time is of the essence, I really cannot wait......
So, someone, please!  Send me a pair of warm, strong, 
gentle hands, don't hesitate