Let me see what you are making…

Let me see what you are making…
It is as if you have been molding that clay for a hundred years…
What you see as ugly and mis-shaped…
I see as beautiful.

I can sit here and watch you for hours on end…
To witness you becoming a part of the work of your hands…
I see It is becoming more important to you than any treasure…
The clay beginning to show a reflection of your face.

So, why is it that sometimes knowledge becomes more important than your creation?
When the wisest of all, know nothing…
Knowledge is not how you feel love…
It will not keep you safe from the worries of the night.

I see, you have added to the clay splashes of scarlet…
Shapes that look like tears…
A pattern that looks more like wrinkles than a crease…
Stop, before the beauty disappears.

All the while the trees whisper…
Asking such a strange question…
Why do you fail to give your work compassion…
When it is coveted as a masterpiece by the rest of the world.

I love you,

Annie