From dirt and water.

In his image he breathes life.

Hands sculpting, creating form.

From dust, arise.

And dust, return.

Fingerprints left behind in clay.

A face unfinished.

Fresh and still.

With breath.

Life shall mold anew.

From his side,

The sculptor plucks argil.

A wife he forms.

All white earth and moss.

For his Adam of clay.