The Sculptor |
The link to this page is: http://www.thepastwhispers.com/Teacher.html Whispers - Home Old New Orleans Friday's Journal |
I took a piece of potter's 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 passed, The bit of clay was hard at last. The form I gave it, still it bore, And I could change that form no more. I took a piece of living clay And gently formed it day by day, And molded with my power and art, A young child's soft and yielding heart. I came again when years were gone, It was a man I looked upon. He still that early impress wore, And I could change him nevermore. -- Author Unknown |
I first read this poem when my son was a toddler. It made such an impression on me that I framed it and placed it on the wall of his room. As he got older, the little poem changed rooms, but it always had a place on one wall or another, a place where I could refer to it from time to time, to remind myself that what we say to (or in front of) a child can make a lasting impression, for better or worse. Probably some time after he'd graduated from college, the little poem made its way into a box of mementoes and was relegated to a closet shelf. But I brought it out of retirement when my granddaughter was born, a reminder - an important reminder - of what can so easily be forgotten. -- Nancy |