Many are the words 1 know,
but there's one I'm loath to useÍ
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 sickÍ
we say 'Richard' when he's niceÍ
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 alienÍ
yet the word's not so absurd...
it's 'sesquipedalian!’