Rag- Picker of Words

There are so many poets
In this life, present,
Past, the future with
Voices still to be born,
Spinners of images that catch
My breath
Make me pause with
Delight
Captured in simple words, the
Beauty of reality
Unbound.

At times I would love
To tuck these phrases
Inside my sleeve
To have a secret stash
Like a miser,
Letting them fall through my fingers
And when no-one is looking,
Put them in a poem.

But when I go to write my own
The words I use
Are only borrowed,
Second hand, to be 

Answer to the siren calls
From the fires
Burning in my brain.
Oh, words that set me free
Please send my
Praises and love into the
Air,
Ragpicker of words
That I am.