Yikes! This is my first poem in years, I swear. I do love happy poems, really, but this was inspired by out poetry unit in Humanties. And basically, it's an old woman drowning. Oh, and the clay is just a reference to how she's an artist. She can form anything practically, except for love. I don't know, any questions- ask. Everything was meant for a reason.
Hope this is good!

Criss-cross apple sauce
Turn this rain to snow.
The withered fingers shape a man
As clay ceases to form.
What should we speak? Or words anew?
What whispers become our silence?
When shall we be heard, amongst the thunder and storm?
The river bends at her feet, rushing to hopeless safety.
The clouds open, beckon her to come.
But is this when peace shall commence?
Her heart beats slow, the grass turns brown, holding to her soul
Her aged eyes drift a tear, flowing to the river’s fate.