The pottery
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.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Added by Poetry Lover
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