No finer word, is ever said,
when silence, takes the stage,
for heated text, spills the red,
turns the love, to rage,
but oral seems, to be the reign,
as many take the knee,
to taste the swill, of such a pain,
repeat vocabulary,
flags of many colours rise,
to put the green, in shade,
truth is now made of lies,
much pride is on parade,
thus, talk instructs, quiet reflects,
our sugar is the vote,
and when our active zeal ejects,
it makes our antidote.