Our precious words we lock away
Save them for a rainy day

Imprisoned in our minds they stay
Never see the light of day

Anxiously they pine away
Falling into disarray

Ideas once bright dimly glow
If only we could let them go

Across blank paper freely flow
Till new dawn the rooster crows

Weaving tales of wondrous lore
Shaking readers to the core

Alas, not yet, it’s far too soon
Maybe come next blue moon

One Word Sunday:  Communication