Pottery is a hobby

And an art form, in a way.

To do it, you spin a wheel

And use lots and lots of clay.

You stick the pot-in-progress

In a special sort of stove,

And you paint it different colors

‘Cause the default’s sort of mauve.

Once your pot is finished

You can fill it up with stuff

Like pebbles, beads, or flowers

Or all sorts of girly stuff.

Then you stick it where you’ll look at it

And feel the nostalgia

Of the day you took to potter

Instead of studying hydromalgia.


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Filed under Poems

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