In the common clay,
Transformed by modeling
I imprison my idea.
Every time you pass,
You stop to look
For a moment,
At my art objects,
Delicately modeled in shape.
They gain color in light.
Many potters expose objects
In that place,
But you know which are mine,
Even without my signature,
I think only of you
When I make them to appear real.
Marieta Maglas
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pottery/
