Hands careful and light

On a fateful night

The clay shaped thinking

The honor to be shaped was amazing

The sculptor was a master at her job

Twirling the heavy clay slob

And the gentleness of her fingers

That made the pottery forever linger

The clay was ready to become a cup or pot

But the sculpture was taking a different shot

Molding the clay finely without any mistakes

The mordern dragon statue awakes