Collapsing into bed, the day drawn strangely long:
Extended on a churning belly,
Full of laughter. Only pardoned,
When it's vacant energy was spent,
And the march through darkness home remained,
Off, off to bed.

This gift of giving gifts of clay,
More blessed than receiving such,
Of forming formless things to shapes,
Of finding fun and making ways,
Then to pour it out again for friends,
And turn like glass to image Him,
He always loved to make and share,
And now He gives this gift to us.

Small words,
That are a tad brief,
Are at max five in one,
Here nor there,
Only some by the side,
Like a tiny spark,
That dance in merry brain waves.