16 Miles On The Erie Canal

I pulled it old right from the kiln.
So hot I could barely hold it 
But it told a tale of ancient places it had been.

Of 16^th century years, of tavern beers
Held in rounded shapes, peasants draped in capes
Landscapes of Renaissance paintings. 

Glazed like later years rolled ‘round and Albany brown
Dug straight from the ground the sound
Of barges down the Erie Canal

Low bridge!  Everybody down!

This mug, brand new
But with a soul so old
It couldn’t have come from my hand.
Maybe it came from my dreams.