Clevedon Pottery

 

From the pots of blue-lined greyness

Cross the centuries speeds the call

To the bards of Lakeland verses

To the love that conquers all

Here they spent warm sunlit hours

‘Fore the poppy stole their smiles

Led them cruelly into madness

Turned their high hopes into guiles

Now the clay shaped in the valley

Of the cleft where Romans strode

Hand-craft turned to gleaming beauty

Taps the poets’ mother lode

Dragonflies and brush-stroke wildfowl

Wing across the bright-glazed skies

Cockerels crow to greet the dawning

Joy’s reborn with each sunrise

Scents of violets and sweet myrtle

Gently waft through wooded vales

Soft and mild the whisper breezes

Aeolian chords from Celtic Wales

Who can say where springs the magic

Don’t dissect the why and how

Just be glad to share the wonder

Celebrate the here and now.