The crossword is a corral

filled with words

by the sharp pencil's thirst.


Warmed by the letters inside,

decorated outside.


A relaxed chat,

a blue feeling's grab.

A cat with the cream,

the dogs never seen.


The construction;

a spy's intelligence,

the chimney and a bell,

overhangin an acrid smell.


It has its moments,

no less no comments.

There are many ways to the end,

when harassing, admited and off sent.

It's up to the player

whether or not man fills it later.



the front of the door

may agonise.

No panic,

the characters fit always inside.