The potter

Day in and day out he sat at his wheel
Churning out exquisite earthenware
Different in shades, shapes and sizes
His gifted fingers creating magic
Giving form and figure to the inert clay!

His dedication to his craft was total
All else faded into nothingness
His immersion in his creativity
Made him deaf and mute to all else
Making him a loner and a recluse.

The potter felt like a demigod
The lifeless clay whirling and twirling
With his fingers molding and shaping
Would virtually put life in the figures
He created with his dexterity and finesse

His genius soon spread like wildfire
His business took off like a rocket
The demand for his pottery soon
Outdistanced the supply even though
He was hard at it sleeping n waking

His small boutique became a huge store
And soon commerce overtook creativity
To meet his ever increasing demand
He stocked wares from other sources
And his gift like a betrayed lover soon eloped.

Now even when he tried to create great figurines
They were lifeless as the Midas touch had gobbled up
His creativity and he repented and cried in vain
His new found prosperity gave him no joy whatsoever
As the price he had paid was just too dear to bear!

“When love and skill work together, expect a masterpiece.”
-John Ruskin

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