. . .

Behold do we, a world to word, 

A world undoubtedly “absurd”.

For terminology we wait,

To represent it’s senseless state.

The mind construes a certain scent,

Of trickster ruses never meant.

Of course the trickster meant no harm.

He didn’t mean to cause alarm.

O flee my friend, deceptive show,

Smell not the fragrant lies of lore.

A word’s more than meaning’s worth.

Hence, fear we must, the morpheme’s hearth.

. . .

Granville D. Austin