Broken Pieces

I am the potsherd, sitting on the ground. 

You pick me up and break me up,

And grind me all around.


I am the potsherd, a broken piece of clay.

You use me in my sinfulness

Not leaving me this way.


I am the potsherd, cast carelessly aside.

You seek me and refine me,

Gold to strengthen all the sides.

 

I am the potsherd, but you see more of me.

The shattered part I once was. 

Now priceless Pottery. 

By

JL McCarthy

February 21, 2020