Pottery Class
"Oh, I can't wait!
To get in my sweet baby's arms,"
My professor would exclaim
At the end of each day
In pottery class.
She was a tall, beautiful woman;
He was a down to earth fellow,
And his vine was fruitful
With children at home and
In pottery class.
His heart was full of love
And lessons of art and life.
His heart had been changed
Through a boating accident he said
In pottery class.
Jesus saved his soul
And by crushing the stony parts
Made a vessel of glory.
Then he gave me a warning
In pottery class.
He saw my arrogance
And a need for humility and said
I would fall if I did not submit;
But he was hoping for my growth
In pottery class.
He prayed for us each morning
And read to us each Christmas;
He would weep before us.
His faith carried us to Christ
In pottery class.
He showed his affection
To us and his family and did not hide
His adoration for his wife
At any art exhibition or
In pottery class.
He said she was patient,
And I could see all her kindness.
I remember him saying
How good she was to him
In pottery class.
So I want him to know,
If he ever wonders while waiting
In his sweet baby's arm...
That he did what was good and right
In pottery class.
Dedicated to Mr. Benson
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