She set about to build a work of art
from clay. But when she touched that medium
she found it seemd to breathe as if a part
of her instead of clay. The tedium
of weaving strands of sinew finely honed
began a glow within her knowing hands.
And skin and hair stretched taut between fine bones
of equine grace. The eyes she made command
the structure of his face, and within those
she placed in him a willingness to prove
his pride. As her anticipation rose
the tail behind the mane began to move.
In awe she stared at hands that had revived
the living breathing thing she had contrived.
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