Magically a thought is allowed

To escape and be on its own.

To wander aimlessly,

Looking for a new home.

Better it had escaped,

Than to bore me.

For only thoughts exist,

That do not wish to flee me.

For I am not a slave trader,

Nor do I treat them unfairly.

Just ask every morning

That they awake very early.

It is then I take the best

And ponder till a poem is born.

Knowing just how to use them,

I let them free to roam.

I am so thankful for these thoughts,

Without them I could not write.

I treat them with much kindness,

And their poetry is my delight.