Book line and sinker

You caught me book line and sinker
With that sentence of yours
Turned my cheeks a bit pinker
With that fish verb doing its best
To escape the nets, and nest
Of the dark owl of Grammar

In your forest of words I was lost
For a moment that lasted an hour, or days
I cannot tell,
They were like little bells
Tinkling in the trees of a's and b's
Then like soot
These burnt words fell, their fire
Having died out
Like ash, they lay on the ground
White words pale with memory

I kick them and let the dust fly up in a cloud
Translation is soft, it makes little sound
Remembering understanding is quiet, not loud