Words are a poet's oxygen. They present as an  essential  presence in a poet's existence. Because poets are logophiles(lovers of words), it is therefore unsurprising that we are ever ready to receive them when they come calling. They are the most welcome   visitors. Words with smooth and gentle tones float by, some are mysterious and puzzling,  others drop in, or crash land, jagged, pithy, confronting -all are received with suitable respect. I  frequently find myself reflecting in my writing upon the constant joy derived from this sweet connection with written and spoken language. I hope this poem provides some small insight as to my personal relationship with wondrous words... What do words mean to you? The Words That Come At Night Sometimes The words of unwritten poems Slide into bed next to me They nestle on my pillow And whisper in my ear Write me down Write me down -Remember me In tomorrow’s early light Soft echoes at ...