Did you ever meet the man,
Who lived once in this place?
Seen so many winters he,
That rust grew round his face.
Glaze and wheel and kiln,
Each he gave its spot,
Moulding earthly heaps,
Homes for ferns and apricots.
Much he did not have,
Giving instead to what he made:
The strength to last a thousand years,
Never to sag or melt or fade.
Pastel clayful creatures,
Yellow, green and blue,
Greater than what nature formed,
But natural through and through.
Muscles weary like a watch
That’s fallen off the pace,
Implored his hands
To work as they had,
In the analogue age.
When time was up he gave the place to me,
I wonder what it was that he could see?
Turned to me that day he did,
Mischief breaking through the rust,
Did you ever meet a man, he said,
Who thought that he was lost?
No, I said, I reckon not,
Pity, he said, I should have liked to make him a pot.
