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