Poetry

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Our bodies are made of clay,
Molded onto how the Lord may;
Want to treasure us for His needs,
For doing our assigned deeds.

But some time we might break apart,
That is caused from a straying heart;
And our clay has become hard,
Then it is burnt becoming charred.

And the clay is no longer good,
Discarded like some rotten wood;
Then thrown away into the trash,
Into the furnace that will gnash.

But if the clay has the Good News,
Then inside it has the virtues;
Pliable for molding again,
For making it righteous within.

We are thwarted but do not quit,
Abandoned but never forfeit;
Be captured but never murdered,
Disappointed but not angered.

Since the Good News is in the clay,
We are pliable through each day;
Allowing God to mold us to,
How He wants us to say and do.


Copyright © 2010 Richard Newton Sherrer

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