The Clay Upon the Wheel

I am that clay today that sets upon His Wheel
To be molded with the Potters Hands
His vessel to Reveal

There seems so many chunks in me
That The Master must toss away
And Press me back upon the wheel
A more pliable piece of clay

It sometimes hurts when on this wheel
The things He makes of me
A vessel that sometimes cracks
One he may repair again, or leave for all to see

You see I'm not made perfect yet
But willing I choose to stay
Upon this wheel for him to mold
Allowing Him to create from this lump of clay.