An anonymous poet has captured this fact of life in these truthful words: “I took a piece of plastic clay,/and idly fashioned it one day,
and as my fingers found it still,/it moved and yielded to my will.
I came again when days were past,
the bit of clay was hard at last,
the form I gave it still it bore,
but I could change that form no more.
I took a piece of living clay,
and gently formed it day by day,
Moulding it with power and art,
a young child’s soft and yielding heart.
I came again when days were gone,
it was a…
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