The first term harbours ink
Keeps the wool-backed pack in clink
Second’s a sea of black cloved feet
And the soundbite of a bleat
Did I hear you say ‘Oh my word!
The second one must be ‘heard’,
Often to group horses or sheep!
In breast pockets sometimes we keep
The first term, afixed by a clip
‘S’on the edge of my lip!
As I lick the tip of my biro!
On my pad of bound-wiro
Then, surely, the right word will be writ!
Now I’m off to the shrink in a blink.
This madness I admit is not wit!
It’s my right not not to be blunt!
It stands for a writing implemunt!
Refer to: Cross Words
Well! Ewe drank from the ink-well of inspiration to come up with this Jimmy Riddle. Once heard never forgotten.