Frank Colson on sun 24 dec 06
'Twas the night of the firing, and out in the shop,
I'd used up my glazes down to the last drop
Kiln wash was brushed on the shelves with care
In hopes that the Propane Man soon would be there
Glazed pots were placed atop the kiln shelves
Cones Five, Nine, and Ten stood erect by themselves.
The burners were cleaned, all ready to light.
Stars would be guarding these pots through the night.
Then out on the drive came the roar of a truck
I quick closed the kiln, and smiled at my luck
The jolly fat driver connected my tank
Then filed it with propane, which smelled pretty rank.
He dashed down the road, what excitment I felt,
I thought of those glazes all starting to melt.
Pottery sugarplums danced in my head,
Temmoku, Celadon, Sang de Bouf Red
I turned on the burners, and tossed in a match
Three months of pottery, ready to hatch.
I opened the valve, and the burners did light
I drank lots of nog, and went down for the night,
When waking up later, my kiln had built heat!
With splended excitement, I peeped in the peep.
The cones all were standing like tall soldier-blokes.
I jiggled the dampers to make the kiln smoke
T'was time to make magic! I rattled my head
(It takes lots of tweaking to turn copper to red!
The moon soon arose in the early dawn hour
I knew that my firing was sweet, and not sour
So off with the burners, and dampers closed tight
Santa and Christmas at last were in sight.
The kiln was thrown open on Christmas Day late.
Family and Friends thought the pots were all GREAT!
FRANK COLSON
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