My Cardboard Balcony

I Made A Star by Belinda Roddie I made a star of clay on Christmas night, worth more to me than any pound of gold, or silver, or any sweet beauty bright. I offered it to my grandfather old, who sat in his rocking chair by the frost that collected on the window. He said, "Well, what a star that the sweet sky has lost! Though it be clay, this star is far from dead, for it still shines despite its earthen tones and its brown shades. I'll keep it forever, arranging it with other precious stones." The years I spent with him became a blur, but I remembered the dirt on my hands after molding the cosmos from hot sands.

Morris was writing a new musical about some sort of orphan - where have I heard that before?  fending for herself in a mystical land of dungeons and dragons - now where have I heard that  before? - before becoming queen. He claimed it was going to be the most creative and original musical of our time. I also know he said that after having imbibed seven strawberry daiquiris, so I couldn't give him a huge  amount of credit.