All vessels made by the same Potter’s Wheel,
Yet different, such as we are.
Some tankards and steins of sterling, Mugs
Of beer at some cheery bar.
Tumblers of glass, goblets of crystal, Cups of
Porcelain, some dainty some stout.
Burnished copper, unpainted clay, each
Molded superior – no doubt.
What we contain is something of choice; but
Much of what we hold – our essence –
Is selected by that which makes us individual and
That which life presents.
How easy to say “Empty thyself! Be Molded fresh!”
Judging others on the shelf.
That tribunal judge of character who sips of life
Different from our self.
All of us are vessels leaky seamed and cracked, Bolder
Or more sensitive perhaps.
Who can say which contents more valued or desired?
Little nicks or larger gaps?
My own glass is a crystal of intensity, with just a
Touch of hearty brass.
I hear the tinkle, an inner voice of sympathy. Whose
To say which will longer last?
I tip my Vessel, so leaky seamed and cracked. My
Heart thus spills mercy,
In contemplation of life’s agonies and Offer to
Mankind’s final destiny.
While others, equally valued, but leaky seamed and cracked,
Are of harder substance made.
But all of us, before humanity, one way or another,
Have our contributions laid.