Edna

What better name for one who'd analyze
and scrutinize the sources of logomachy, 
a philosopher who filters truth from lies,
our building blocks, the seat of aetiology. 
A thinker's thinker, one who ponders well
the implications of a life-long gleaning,
'composed of' and 'comprises,' just a single cell
in her journey to examine every meaning.
Though new expressions find their way to dictionaries,
they bastardize, dilute the power of language,
'snuck' instead of 'sneaked,' no real propensities
to offer something better, (tawdry verbiage!)
    To communicate with skill, singular fluency
    takes 'savoir faire,' a knack for etymology!
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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Wood Avatar
December 17, 2015 at 3:10 PM
Language, like the cell, mutates divides and morphs into something unrecognisable over time, particularly when using cell phones when texting, and then creeps into dictionaries and common use.
Wood Avatar
December 17, 2015 at 4:21 PM
Ahh, and I mistakenly hooked on the last stanza. Apologies. hope your friend enjoyed your fine poem.
Bickerstaffe Avatar
December 17, 2015 at 3:55 PM
I meant it as a love sonnet to a very dear friend...
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