SONGS OUT OF CLAY
Oh I know that you are an artist she said
For you make your songs out of clay
You carry the dust on your hands and your knees
You never quite brushed it away
You were trying to chisel a perfect truth
When the instrument broke in your hand
Now you sit alone on the greenhouse roof
With your shoes full of sand.
And the golden rays of the sun
Divide in the slanting mists of the rain
And Maggie is on the road again.