In the dark of night I saw this jug — and the memory of the beloved came alive again. How this jug resembles me. It too was made from the clay of a human being: a lover, grief-stricken, like me. It too was once captive to the love of a fair-faced one. The handle of this jug is made from the clay of that very hand which used to clasp it around the neck of its beloved. But today it is lifeless and takes no pleasure in the wine poured into it. I, however, am alive — and I can savor it, before they make jugs from my clay as well. Hand drawn with coloredpencil on cardboard