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, 

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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. 

Image Credit to the author.