KIDNAPPED

Robyn Makaruk   May 2015

There are wordsmiths I know

That I’d like to kidnap.

I’d put them in separate rooms

Each with a bay window

A nice, comfy chair,

Table, writing materials

I’d play them their kind of music

Feed them sweetmeats

Serve them fine wine

Then steal their arsenal of

Metaphors,

Turn of phrase, meter,

All of those wondrous words

Reduced to the essence

Of meaning and emotion.

But when I really think about it

Kidnapping would not be the way to go

As each week all that I’ve just described

Is given me in the spirit of generosity

And sharing of these marvelous gifts

With no expectations of anything more

Than acceptance.

                   ****