A chllenge came to me one day;A Potter given a piec of clay.A a ray of hope buried deep inside, I saw a promis full of prid.Each day I took this piece of clay and gently tried to shap it my way, But it was hard from the storms of life and each attempt was filled with strife.Somtimes it gave into my will with a growing hope I could feel. Anticipation inside me grew, What will it be when I am through?''.Then one day when I could do no more Ipatiently waited at my door.And then a knock,my heart beat fast; My finished product, here at last!Questions flashing through my mind, When I look up what will I find? Is that piec of clay so full of prid, Strong enough for life?"I crid. I looked up and what I saw, No longer clay, I stood in awe. The shap was strong; eternity passed, That piece of clay spoke, at last. No longer timid, no longer shy, Just said, THANK YOU"; I began to cry.A young man stood; not meek, buy mild, THE POTTER-MOTHER; THE CLAY A CHILD. THANK MOM LOVE ROBERT.
[This message has been edited by ROBERT TURNBULL (edited 07-27-99).]