Vaso de Barro
Irmãs Falavinha
Clay Pot
I'm not a vessel, neither silver nor gold,
A noble, valued pot that no one can hold.
I'm just a vessel, not made of rare stuff,
I'm a clay pot, much easier to rough.
Clay pot, how many times I've been shattered, and again I'm taken
To the potter who made me.
He looks at me with a compassionate gaze,
Remakes me again and fills me with strength.
The pot is fragile, and time keeps on passing,
It wears down from the battles I'm facing.
The poor pot, being fragile and clay,
Needs to be taken to the potter once more, I say.
Every time I go to the potter's hands,
I feel true love,
That the potter has for me.
I'm made of clay, but the potter
Loves me like the apple of his eye,
He takes good care of me.
