My Lovely Hands

My  Lovely hands

Are those of a potter’s

They mould

If the product is good

These are sold.

If unworthy

They are destroyed

In my mind

Once again toyed

To the potter’s wheel

I add wetter clay

Then my beautiful hands

Once again marvel play

Like bone China clay

I am laid down

At the museum

For display

My hands only speak

That much

For themselves today.