February 14th, 2013 by eTutor
- I took a piece of plastic clay
- And idly fashioned it one day,
- And as my fingers pressed it, still
- It moved and yielded to my will.
- I came again when days were past;
- The bit of clay was hard at last,
- The form I gave it still it bore,
- But I could change that form no more!
- I took a piece of living clay,
- And gently pressed it day by day,
- And molded with my power and art
- A young child’s soft and yielding heart.