lying upended in a pile of sherds
the broken windbell caught my eye
not fired in the kiln like the rest
but cast aside for another day

perhaps there was a crack in the clay
or a flaw in the impressions
that set it apart from the others
I really couldn't say

why it was rejected
yet to me it seemed good enough
a masterpiece drawn of the earth
so much so that I selected

the broken windbell for my own
with nary another thought
or even a look around
I picked it up and took it home