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[ in memory of Terence Dolan, lexicographer ] Caught in this web of words He gathered endless lists And put them all together Brought them all to book. He wined and dined on sayings Enjoyed all turns of speech He filled his chests with nuggets Of what the people said. The piquant and the spicy He stored in tall glass jars The trifles and the titbits He kept in old cake tins. Each word it had its sound: The crack of nuts, the crunch of apple. Each word it had its taste: The salt of fish, the roast of meat The tangy and the saucy Were savoured on the tongue. With zest he searched the country For gems he could recruit To fill his growing wordbook, Add colour to the page. But the task was never-ending The words they overflowed: What squirrel knows his hoard is done What store brimful with grain?
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