One time
I found you crying
among the pots of history
for their beauty
exquisite forms
holding an infinity
of memories
One time
these pots were fashioned new
serving the unexceptional duty
of every day
Memories are precious
and are to be kept and held
and viewed with love
but are not love
Love is made of hope
which we fashion new
with common clay and imagination
Tomorrow
we may test it in the fire
© Neil Quintrell
