Lost and found

One of the prompts in August's Writing Magazine is a list of words.  The word 'obscured' leapt out at me,  as I've found it hard to find the right word a couple of times recently. 

Twice today my brain has let me down.  

I've lost a word, floundered around it, 

Nibbled close, couldn't immediately find it. 

The first, you asked of me, having just lost it yourself

Midway through an explanation: 

The word for a set of rules a club might use.

I kept thinking 'constituency', knowing it was wrong, 

Discarding it, for it to reappear again and again,

With fuzzy edges as if it was hiding what I needed 

Behind its teasing shape. Minutes later I shouted

"Constitution" - pumping my fist in triumph.

The second, I sat staring at a tree in a pot, 

A wedding gift from friends; it's name escaped me. 

I knew it well, its leaves I use to flavour stews, pickles.

An edible relative of the laurel, begins with a B. 

Bee, baa, I try to jog my memory. It's name won't come. 

Enraged, a little scared, I Google it:

The relief of finding 'Bay' is palpable. 

The losing of words, as inevitable as aging, 

Terrifies a wordsmith, in love with the shape,

And sound, and meaning of every individual word. 

Each time the failure to find the specific one,

Lurking close by somewhere, just out of reach,

Portends the loss of eloquence, a shrinking into silence.

Each one regained, a victorious relief. 

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