Creation forms upon the table
A heart beats not, within the clay
Lord guide my hands, so I am able
To give this piece some life today

Clogging up my finger nails
A fleeting image doth appear
A foot, a hand and fingers frail
A head that only has one ear

I sense a nose piece on the ground
I shape and roll, to form some lips
They frame a mouth that makes no sound
Then eyes appear, that see no ships

I tried so hard to emulate
The wonder of your image self
My feeble efforts to create
Now dust to dust upon ‘Your Shelf’