Young Olivia watched her father

Mold and spin the clay

On his potter’s wheel he worked

Until he had a new item to display;

Hour after hour

Day after day

Each piece he completed

All ended the same way;

With the delicate clay still wet

He’d apply his potter’s mark

Declaring each one complete

Stamped with a piece of his heart;

He whispered to his daughter

The importance of this last step,

“It’s not only the sign of completion

It’s the mark of my craftsmanship.”

As young Olivia listened

A thought came into her head

She touched her hand to her cheek

And felt until her face was red;

Innocently, she whispered back,

“So, Daddy, I think I know,

Why only I have this freckle

Right here on the tip of my nose.

After I was made

And God saw that I was good,

He placed His potter’s mark

Like you’ve said all craftsman should.”