artist

I took a piece of plastic clay,

and idly fashioned it one day;

and as my fingers pressed it,

still it moved and yielded to my will.

I came again, when days had passed.

That bit of clay was hard at last.

The form I gave it, still it bore,

and i could not change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,

and gently formed it day by day,

and molded with my power and art,

a young child's soft and yielding heart.

came again when years were gone;

it was a man i looked upon, who still that early impress bore, and i could change it, nevermore.

* addressed to my beloved, please differentiate.