The Clay Speaks To The Potter Poem by Sheena Blackhall

When Eden's tree put out its leaf
Its roots with my dark side did pleat
You were created from my bones
The gentle dust beneath your feet

Holder of honey, milk and wine
The cup where lip and liquid meet
I am the fragments ground by Time
The gentle dust beneath your feet
The hatchery of history
Older am I than wood, than peat
I am the child of storm and stone
The gentle dust beneath your feet

Touch me. I yield, take any shape
Then turn my face towards the heat
Of transformation in the kiln
The gentle dust beneath your feet

And when you step from light and life
Into the tomb, so cool, so sweet
I will enfold you at the last
The gentle dust beneath your feet