there is a bird

that lives unheard

in a poets head

within a nest of

metaphor it makes

its tiny bed

the bird contains

a thesaurus the

writer's repituor

and when the

writer goes to

write that's what

the bird is for

For when a word

is almost there

or almost out of reach

The bird goes out

and plucks the word

just like a fuzzy peach

a fuzzy little synonym

ripe and full of meaning

plucked from hypothalami

by mental pigeons preening

But when the word bird goes to sleep

And finds its brainy nook

The writer's words are secondhand

stolen from a book