words, words
poetic and free,
twirl and spin;
twisty tops,
word fantasy.

Some are big,
some are small.
We all love,
to read them all.

Some are new,
some are old.
Searching within,
of truth, be told.

Some, they
sing, like
bells that ring.

Some, they
shout, scream,
and pout.

Some grumble
and mutter,
others stutter.

To capture them
all, a feat,
not small.

Behind word’s
curtain; one
thing is certain.

Word’s beauty
disputed, by
ears, that are
muted.