Many are the words 1 know,
but there's one I'm loath to use;
warily, I've watched it grow
well beyond its terrible twos.
No, it's not the word I choose
if, in saying it, I blush
euphemistically for "lose"
what I urgently must flush.
Nor is it the one 1 slice
when my brother makes me sick;
we say 'Richard' when he's nice;
when he's not, he's one real 'Rick.’
'Irue again for my big sis'
when she's got an angry itch Â
hangÂnail, zit or sloppy kiss,
she becomes a brazen witch.
If I've caught you by surprise,
wondering what it might be,
piqued as punch and yet not wise,
here's the lock to fit the key:
fourteen letters in a word
may seem frankly alien;
yet the word's not so absurd...
it's 'sesquipedalian!’