I can imagine this vase on my sideboard

Filled with colourful felt flowers that were a gift from Copenhagen

Tell me about your vase that you made by hand

With an underwater garden growing up it’s womanly shape

Tell me about your  vase as I stroke it in my hand

That those patterns emerged by chance

As the hot pot plunged first into a bready ferment

And only after then you saw what you had created 

Its’ story will be told to my friends

When they visit me and my Obvara vase