The Sculptor

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 where passed,
That bit of clay was hard at last,
The form I gave it,still it bore,
And I could change that form no more.

Then I took a piece of living clay
And gently formed it, day by day,
And moulded with my power and art,
A young child's soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years where gone,
It was a man I looked upon,
He still that early impress bore,
And I could change it, nevermore.

Lataa,
Beautiful observation....and connection of a sculptor and shall we say motherhood...
both have an impression that they bore....very much true...

So one more job for a mother...as a sculptor..

sriniketan

Dear Sriniketan,

Thanks for the reply,its indeed the mother whose impression lasts forever on a child.Its not my own,came across somewhere ,wanted to share with you all.

lathaa

Thanks for sharing with us, lata...

sriniketan

Dear Latha,

Very nice and good narration

Keep posting more !