I wish I had a huge vessel of wondrous, enchanted clay

That I could mold into magical things every single day.

Like building a world where people never resorted to fray

Where kids were never hungry and always could safely play.

I’d take great clumps of clay in my hands and make a cabaret

Where folks could come to see great shows and never have to pay.

I’d build immense museums in poor places with my clay

For people to see the splendor of painters such as Monet

And Vincent van Gogh, and Henri Rousseau, Moses, Wyeth and Klee

And then I’d take my special clay and figure out a way

To build a vast coliseum where folks could hear people play

The music of all the masters, like Brahms and Bizet, and they

Could sit and listen to Pavarotti, Fitzgerald and Mel Torme

And Porter, the Gershwins, Berlin, heck, even Doris Day!

And watch wonderful dancers pirouette in graceful ballet

And hear the sweet poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millet.

And watch spellbinding movies, and cinema verité

And schmooze in cafes with roues while sipping mocha latte

I’d then take scoops of my mud and I’d be so proud to say

I’d shape it to all bad diseases, and then without delay

I’d hammer them all to dust, so they could no longer slay

Anyone else in all the world, for forever and a day.

I’d work to make less solemn stuff too, like fudge and great horseplay

And circuses, festivals, picnics and raspberry glace.

I’d mold the weather of the world so it never rained by day

But just at night like in Camelot; and on each holiday

I’d carve the clay to family scenes of love and mirth and glae

Where kids could grow and thrive and live and never have to say

“My mother likes to call herself a happy divorce.”

I’d spend a lot of hours carving nature with my clay

Flowers, birds, all animals, a fabulous array

And all would live in health and peace in the world made with my clay

Where every single person would eat like a gourmet

And no one would ever desire to be a popinjay

And I would carve for everyone his very own sobriquet

So everyone would be unique and not just a cliche

Where everyone could choose to live in their very own forte

Where life is always new and fresh and fine and sweet and gay.

And all of us would always be in the core of our heyday.

I’d remodel the world to look like a park in beautiful Marseilles

And all men would have broad shoulders, all women sweet decollete.

No bullies would hurt children, and I’d work to find a way

To use my clay to keep creatures safe, and then I’d get underway

And start to build a warless world although some would inveigh

Against all this, for some love war, but to those fools I say

“You say it’s a dream, can’t happen, but don’t let it fade away

“Who knows? It could all transpire. It’s really not so fey

“For all of us to hope, to dream, to plan, to wish and to pray

“That we each could work to make our world a perfect place to stay.”

I confess I frequently dream in both the night and the day

Of taking that mud and remolding our world in a positive way

With that vessel of clay, with my mystical clay, my enchanted, magical clay.

LC Van Savage is a Brunswick resident.