The Clay MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   I hold the clay in my hands

It is warm, warmer than my hands.

Its feelings seep out.

I can feel fur

and paws

and tiny

shiny claws

and teeth

But mostly mischief.

A tiny heart beats rapidly

It struggles to get free

I mold as fast as I can,

before I lose the chipmunk's soul

Rich red, black and white streaks, claws, teeth.

The mischief disappears into a hole

to be hardened by fire.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Nov. 30 2013 at 3:12 pm
ElisaTheDuck ELITE, Rigaud, Other
323 articles 5 photos 168 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Describe yourself in three words."

Very nicely written, full of description and imagery.


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