Paula Hollenweger

Clay

A palm-full of mud, in my hand,
This warm yellow clay,
Deep inside, blessings to the rim,
With vigour keen and secret.

From a pail of such soft clay
God forms, what came alive,
He holds it in his hand and moulds you.
His breath exhales - you are.

In the end His breath draws in –
What has turned out of clay,
What had a life, is spent.
And at last find a home in clay.

From: Stewart-dukedom, you land by the Rhein, 1965