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Realizing a form out of stone, Set hands moving. Roan shaped his heart, Through his working hands. Work to mold his passion into clay, Like the sun. In his room, his lady, She would dance and sing so completely. So be still, he now cries, I have time, oh let clay transform thee so. In the deep cold of night, Winter calls, he cries Don't deny me! For his lady, deep her illness. Time has caught her, And will for all reasons take her. In the still light of dawn, she dies. Helpless hands soul revealing. Like leaves we touch, we learn. We once knew the story. As winter calls he will starve, All but to see the stone be life. Now Roan, no more tears. Set to work his strength, So transformed him. Realizing a form out of stone, His work so absorbed him. Could she hear him? Could she see him? All aglow was his room, Dazed in this light. He would touch her, He would hold her.

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