James Thomas Hazard
How easy and strong are the potter’s hands,
Our souls so soft
As clay on the wheel,
Immortal as gold
But not so indifferent to time
That is still in the water, coated with trees and clouds,
Sculpted by roots, bends, sand and silt,
The mirror that watches the wheel,
Fixed to fascination,
Immortal as gold
And just as indifferent to time