The Theft

I stole a thought from a friend of mine.
He shall not miss it. He has so many.
When he roams the closets of his mind
He never knows when one is taken.
And, encountering it from another’s lips
He rarely recognizes it, or
In any case, has the social grace
Never to reclaim it.

He felt this idea was all used up,
Dried tea-bag in the bottom of a cup,
But I divined amidst its patterns
A promise of stronger view.
And so I stole it, yes—
I confess –
It was impetuous I guess,
But very gratifying.