The mud was lying there, forlorn; wanting to be shaped, molded, to contribute.
Make me into a vessel. Help me make something of myself.
Day after day. Forlorn.
A sound in the distance. Could it be heading my way? Will they help me?
Sploosh!
The truck forged through. And beyond.
I have been touched. I am so happy!
Come on, Sun! Bake me into laughter!