Molded Clay - Poem by Doris Snyder
God didn't ask me if I wanted to be
Black, white or yellow.
God didn't ask me where I wanted to be
Hill, sea or meadow. He molded clay, concerted symphony,
Beast, plant and person.
He chose my right place for harmony
Mid tide and season. God Said to love all with amity.
No one is greater.
Share, save the world's destiny.
Keep peace forever.
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