Stolen Words
Stolen Words
There must be a cache of words
Hidden away somewhere
That no one ever disturbs
But in which I'd like to share.
How else could we poets explain
Our inability to portray
The beauties of that higher plane
That poets perceive each day?
The heights to which we ascend
When a sunset defies all words,
The mystery of the rainbow's end,
Colors of flowers, the music of birds?
Such etheric words have been stolen
And hoarded by some thief
Perhaps in an underground den
Causing the rest of us grief.
O perpetrator of this dreadful deed
It's most unfair for you to capture
These precious gems we poets need
To express our poetic rapture.
Molly Moore
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