the Word
There once was a man with a silver sword
Who whispered an almost forgotten word.
The word grew loud though the man didn’t shout
Soon other men tasted it inside their mouths.
The word spread wide like a poisonous cough
Till the king of the land had heard it enough.
He built a great fire and burnt the black word
And he slaughtered the man with the silver sword.
But the word whispered soft from among the flames
Twisted with smoke, all faded and gray.
Throughout the wide kingdom, the word was heard
And no man could kill that absurd little word.
The word became twisted the further it grew
It rotted and blistered near all the way through.
But the green heart remained with the sap of the word
Till along one day came a silver sword.
It pierced the word to its greenwood heart
And discerned the root of the word’s many parts.
And they say that the word will be whispered again
By the man at the desk with the silver pen.
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