I walked into the little shop
A layer of dust coated the door
Earthen faces peered from laden shelves
Dusty footprints on the floor
The bearded man sat on his stool
In front of the potter’s wheel
That spun as his boot rose and fell
As he formed the clay with skill
He lovingly stroked the earthen dough
In his hands gentle and strong
He shaped a unique work of art
As the wheel hummed its song
He dampened his fingers to smooth the edge
Then pushed back his stool to stand
The wheel stood still as he lifted the bowl –
The work of the Master’s Hand
SA 2014