You are ...

My graceful one ...
My little lamb ... remember ...
You are not a god ...
And you are not God ...
You have not perfection ... neither should you seek it ...

You are a pot of flesh...
A vase of the finest clay ...
Clay wasn't made for perfection ... gold was ...
Clay may not shine under moonlit skies, nor sparkle in the sun ...
Clay may not, like silver, attract the eye of princes and nobles ...
It may not find a place at the king's table ... or rest, like a golden crown, upon his head ...

But clay – remains the potter's choice ...
He won't choose the gold ... for it won't come near the water of life ... it would corrode and waste ...
He has cast away the silver ... it is cold, and it remains hard to his hands ...
But you, my gentle one .. he has found favourite ...
For his hands have found purpose in you ... above gold, above silver ...

He has taken you from the damp swamp, and placed you upon the table of his work ...
You, he has chosen ... for you are one with the water ...
He will take you ... he will mould you, he will form you ..
Then into you, he will breathe the breath of life ...
And he will say... 'You are much more than silver and gold' ...
And he will call you his child ...
And he will call you his own ... because you are...