It Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
It
I found a piece
of it. A shard
of clay. Unadorned.
Unlike the earth
from which it came.
Shaped by some hand.
My mind tried
to complete its form.
Shape it again.
But in my hand
it lay. A shard
of clay. Unadorned.
A broken mystery
that stirred
the heart to see it
whole as a word
Friday, November 6, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: discovery
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4/21/2024 11:01:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
