Plastic Clay

I took a piece of plastic clayAnd idly fashioned it one day,And as my fingers pressed it still,It moved and yielded to my will.

I came again when days were past&md;The bit of clay was hard at last;The form I gave it, it still bore, But I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clayAnd gently formed it day by day,And moulded with my power and artA young child's soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years were gone&md;It was a man I looked upon;He still that early impress wore,And I could change him nevermore.