To You Who Would Judge

TO YOU WHO WOULD JUDGE
IF--God created me from dust-—then I suppose
He bears no malice toward my lack, because
He made me as I am and knows—-
My weakness--being his-— I’m not to blame
Nor any other. WE did not choose, WE dare not claim
The glory, or the shame.
Twas HE who chose the clay and cast the mold, not I
Twas also HE.. Who deemed me fit to live or die
So if in imperfections I abound-—Look around
Are any others cast of finer clay?
I say--nay.
And dare you guess--what lies behind the clay
Of molds that differ, only in the way
The artist shook or trembled as he worked
To fashion you or I to lurk--behind a mask of clay
To play the part-—Of mice or men, and then depart.
We dare not look beyond concealing clay, lest we percieve
The purpose of imperfect form—-and misconceive
The vastness of the human mind; the shape of things to come
Or know—-which clay-—conceals a spirit
Fit——to lead the way.
I know not how or when, or what, or why
Or by what right we differ--you and I.
I only know we do-—and so, we go our way.
And let it be as it will be and trust;
Whatever price we ask—-will be the price we pay.
And it is just.
Bonnie White Bleak--1963