Jar of clay

 

This jar of clay is giving way.
The glaze is gone, its edges worn.
Hairline cracks leave winding tracks
that weren't there when it was born.
All 'round its base the wrinkles chase,
where once was surface smooth and gloss.
Now many a chip on the old jar's lip,
the question: is it gain or loss?
Is passing time really such a crime
if we're destined to be made anew?
Or must this life cease to bring sweet release
and let pure crystal waters flow through.
Whether loss or gain, old age is a pain,
though there's comfort we can take:
life's grief scratches deep, then a restful sleep,
sweet escape from the jar when we 'wake.
-HJ Aug 29, 2009