Poem: The Pitcher

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We could see it sailing by
Bobbing on the stream,
Polished to a rotund gleam
By its wayfaring ablutions.

Only for a second, some slim
Brown hand
Must have relinquished its 
Hold to the waters,
Watching in dismay
The self-willed lustre
Of Potter’s Clay. 












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*  (c) Omer Tarin 2002

Orig. published in ''Poetry International'' journal
SDSU, San Diego, California, USA

Hi ! Welcome here to my personal blog �� My pen-name appears usually as 'Omer Tarin' in most searches and sometimes as 'Omar Tarin'

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