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Thesaurus, thrilling Thesaurus, how adored are thee.
You edit, yet the credit belongs solely to me.
Simply beautiful, then radiant, exquisite,even elegant.
Just perfect, quite flawless, faultless, and blemish-free.
The web of words you weave and spin,
you caress and embellish what I begin.
Dictionary, dearest Dictionary, let me count the ways.
You give my words their purpose, their meaning never sways.
Who would have thought that unencumbered, defines all that is free?
And that accoutrements, tells all of my love affair with accessories?
This literature I peck and pound, searching for accuracy in kind,
you zealously, righteously, thoroughly direct and define.
Spell-check, sweetling spell-check, a rose by any other name,
Would be a weed with thistles, held accountable to your claims.
Not their, but there; not hare but hair, your purpose all too clear.
Feet or fete, meet or mete; no blunder of precision do I fear.
The words I type, you reunite, the way they should have been,
Studying prose as pages grow, you correct all flaws you tend.
Each of my efficient Editors, your service I do commend,
You sweat and toil and sieve my work, and not a penny do I spend.
Page after page I commiserate with your resources to refine.
For all of your lovely attributes to rework and then make mine.
I write my book, and with one loving look, my Editors offer aid,
they give and gaze-sweep, they sew, I reap, and I’ll always gladly take.
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