Upon the wheel, the clay does spin,
A formless mass, new life begins.
With gentle hands, the potter moulds,
A vessel’s shape, a story unfolds.

Each press and turn, with care and grace,
Imparts a mark, a sacred trace.
Through trials of fire, the clay must go,
To strengthen, harden, and to grow.

Imperfections smoothed, flaws erased,
In the potter’s hands, the clay is placed.
From dust to art, a masterpiece,
In every curve, a sense of peace.

The potter’s touch, both firm and kind,
Transforms the clay, renews the mind.
In every vessel, a purpose found,
A testament to love profound.