When Eden's tree put out its leaf
Its roots with my dark side did pleat
You were created from my bones
The gentle dust beneath your feet
Holder of honey, milk and wine
The cup where lip and liquid meet
I am the fragments ground by Time
The gentle dust beneath your feet
The hatchery of history
Older am I than wood, than peat
I am the child of storm and stone
The gentle dust beneath your feet
Touch me. I yield, take any shape
Then turn my face towards the heat
Of transformation in the kiln
The gentle dust beneath your feet
And when you step from light and life
Into the tomb, so cool, so sweet
I will enfold you at the last
The gentle dust beneath your feet
sheena blackhall
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-clay-speaks-to-the-potter/
