THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

Clay Pots
Copyright 2013, Gordon Kuhn
All rights reserved.

How like shattered clay pots
They were when seen from close at hand
Clay pots fresh from the kiln that day
Broken when each mold was cast upon the cold
That lingered where the air was fresh and clean
And seen from heights where eagles dare soared
When they were sudden sent away amid the roar
Of surf spray that clutched the hand of sand
And layered about in nameless lots
Slowly became a collection of shrinking tired dots
Spread loosely upon the blue above the fading land
There floated they then above the heavy depth of sea
In all their fractured banquet were then to death led
When thought the world had set them free
Above the green and sleeping spaces where
Sightless watchers looked and not one was really seen

June3, 2013