From the poetic moment of leather hard leaves of clay to the now bone dry Pillow Vases waiting to be transformed in to the strong long lasting fired state like its moon vase cousin. The pots wait in the shade.
"Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting:
Here I shade and hide my thoughts--I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems."
--
Walt Whitman, from "Here the Frailest Leaves of Me," in Leaves of Grass (originally self published, 1855)
"Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting:
Here I shade and hide my thoughts--I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems."
--
Walt Whitman, from "Here the Frailest Leaves of Me," in Leaves of Grass (originally self published, 1855)
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