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Writer's pictureMolly McTernan

The Potter (poem)

His hands are old and wiry

His face is long and creased

He squints at his precious work

Good eyesight long deceased

Though his years are many

And he’s seen much come and go

His work has always been this way

Tedious and slow

There’s something unique about him

Something most don’t see

No matter the cracks or nicks

He can fix your pottery

Is this not like you?

Broken all throughout

Our Father is fixing us

Complete without a doubt

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