The Clay Considers

Not much of a reader

Not much of a saint

Have tried meditation

But clearly I can’t.

Walked down that straight aisle

And pledged a fresh start

But memories still haunt me

And torment my heart.

I see the True Vine

But vaguely I guess

Still Jesus you graft me

And promise your best.

Not A grade or B grade

I simply believe.

In night calms you visit

I gladly receive

A touch of compassion

A measure of hope

A burden for others

Who wander and grope

This clay has your purpose

And spins with delight

And feels your caressing

And shaping so right.

 

(Doug Blair)

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