Circumvent, when you can, the adjective,
Pen with precision, scribe, be selective,
Art we should not excessively polish,
Keep a mere sheen, then all glare abolish.
One ripe descriptor nurtures a line,
Two can show a need for nouns more refined,
Ten modifiers proves the writer is green,
And twelve in two lines is somewhat obscene.
Oh, there are many that earn high regard,
But sweet hoists itself on its own petard,
Decorous can charm, waggish may entice,
wicked is too wicked, nice overtly nice.
And yet, and yet, such darling words beckon,
A thesaurus holds a plethora, I reckon,
Some are as familiar as a friend’s hand,
Gentle and warm, simple to understand.
Once lackadaisical called out to me,
Abysmal crooked a finger almost smugly,
And that supercilious stuck out its tongue,
While senescent winked, played at being young.
Then loud I silenced, insistent I hushed,
Gaudy I stripped and lazy I rushed,
Imposing I humbled, clingy I whelped,
Reckless I reasoned, lastly, lost I helped.
For these words are ribbons made of gold foil,
Across each bard’s page tempting adjectives coil,
So choose one perfect word, set it apart,
then enshrine the others within your heart.