Cracked pot
Sitting on the hill
Waiting for the storm
Longing to feel
The clear falling rain
Fill it with purpose:
Cradling the waters.

Not the best loved,
Not the first chosen,
Nor the most complete.

Struck by lightning
Burnt through the cracks
Blown into pieces
To never stick back
Laying as fragments
On top of the hill
Each of them smouldering
As the rain fills.
Leonard Cohen says:
‘There is a crack in every thing’