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Oct 2018
Skilled with his hands
In forming the clay
But not with his words
As many did say
He spoke with water
And his spinning wheel
A man of no words
Yet one could feel
The struggles he had
In the vessels he made
Without signal or voice
A message conveyed
That indeed we all toil
Beneath a ceaseless sun
Striving to reach again some day
The Garden in which we begun
Hadrian Veska
Written by
Hadrian Veska
258
     Weeping willow and Hadrian Veska
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