One night from slumber woke abruptly
I shot up and peered about me
Across the room and scarcely moving
A man in black stood cowed and cringing
Black gloves wrapped with careful strength
Around my most treasured Monet
I inquired "Do you desire
To collect, curate, inspire?"
"I just wish" he roughly said
"To not live life in scraps of bread"
"And at days and to know and lay
My head in home with rent I've paid."
"But this art holds value here
From its mantle place it peers
Down at houseguests of high status
Surely you see how that matters"
Alas I knew I could not reach him
There was nothing I could teach him.
Morality annot be taught
And ignorance cannot be bought
Unlike paintings, homes and bread
The only things in this thief's head.
Security disposed him then
I never thought of him again.
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