The potter fashioned me
A humble utensil
Utilitarian and unregarded,
Now chipped and scratched.
One night, I was selected
To wash the feet of a dozen men
By someone, another servant
Who knelt and bathed them tenderly.
He finished and said “Now you are clean.”
Suddenly, my scratches and marring vanished.
The damage I once believed permanent, gone.
He touched me; I am whole and new and beautiful.
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