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.
again when days were past: The bit of clay was hard at last.
The form I gave it still it bore, and I could fashion it no more!
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.
again when years had gone: It was a man I looked upon.
He still that early impress bore, and I could fashion it no more!
-- Author Unknown --
Eric Hoskinson: Eric@EHoskinson.net