What is it about Clay?

“I took a piece of plastic clay

And idly fashioned it one day,

And as my fingers pressed it still,

It moved and yielded at my will.

I came again when days were past;

The bit of clay was hard at last,

The form I gave it still it bore,

But I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,

And gently formed it day by day,

And molded with my power and art

A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I came again when days were gone;

It was a man I looked upon;

That early impress still he wore,

And I could change it never more.

(Author Unknown)