The idea thief has struck again
From the moment I picked up my pen
With intent to scribble down a thought
A second later, I forgot

That thief, that louse, that nasty brute
Has robbed me many times today
No sooner am I struck with hope
Than – snatch – he steals it away

That cunning, sneaky robber,
He waits behind my chair
And when ideas come my way,
He plucks them from the air

I don’t know why he does it
Truth be told, I do not care
‘Cause he’s pilfered what belongs to me
And it's more than I can bear

Someone ought to catch him
And hang him by the ears
Or throw him into jail
For a hundred billion years

If you think I’m being harsh
Just imagine the frustration
When I tried to write a story
When he filched my inspiration

I thought I’d write a poem
About life and loss and love
But every word and rhyme and verse
Has been tainted by his glove

I’ve been sitting here for hours
And I’ve chewed my nails to bits
And soon I’ll reach the end
Of my tired, fraying wits

And when I do, I warn you now,
You’ll hear my battle cry
As I rise up from my chair
And run to catch that guy

It might take days, or weeks, or months
Or a whole entire year
But I WILL CATCH HIM, mark my words,
And all shall hear my cheer

As I arrest that wretched fool
And into jail throw ’im
Then toss that key straight down a well
And sit to write my poem