Friday, April 15, 2016

The Friend by Carol Lynn Pearson

Let me be the hearth 
Where you sit to work your clay 
I'll not say 
"Shape it like this or that," 
I promise 

Let me watch 
As you in absolute agency 
Mold your mortal dream. 

Only sit close 
And let me give a little light, 
A little warmth. 
Yes, warmth especially. 

Cold clay yields to no form. 
Let me be your hearth. 
Sit close. 
Be warm.

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