potters Clay

A distant cry heard through hollowed trees, where for art thou whom hideth within the breeze. Speaking in deep frequency vibrating through mine core, doth the wind speaketh, whom knocketh upon the hearts door. Yea to what would you have me say to them who's ears are lifted up, hearken all ye whom waiteth, for soon with you he will sup. Comfort shall come by the warmth of his hand, take heed, unto the voice who calms the heart of the lamb. As tribulation goeth underway, feareth not ye potters clay. Is it far for you that truth is revealed from a servant true, Yea this day, ye whom readeth, valued in every way, he speaketh unto you.