The Potter and His Clay

In small corner of a crowded workshop
A potter sits in an old chipped and splintered chair.
Putting a handful of clay on his pottery wheel,
He imagines what he will be making.
Foot on the pedal,
He begins pumping the pedal,
Turning the wheel.
Dipping his hands in the bowl of water
Resting on a broken down table beside him,
He realizes what he will be making.
Hands on the clay,
He begins his masterpiece.
Starting at the bottom,
The potter's hands begin to form the feet,
With exact detail.
Slow and steady,
His old, wrinkled hands form the rest of the figure.
After completing his work of art,
The potter takes a mental picture of the sculpture.
"I will never forget you, my son,"
The potter says.
Placing the masterpiece on the shelf,
He steps back and looks in awe.
Hundreds of shelves stand,
Filed with sculptures,
But none look alike.
Starring at his latest sculpture,
He says,
"Just remember,
I am the Potter,
You are My clay."