The Coughing Sheep

One evening as I pitched my camp, the night was dark, the air was damp,
I heard a sheep or something coughing,
Not a sound you hear too offing.
“Who is that?” I feebly cried. “It’s only me,” the sheep replied.
“I always thought that sheep went Baah.”
“Ah, but,” it said,” I’ve got catarrh.
No, no,” she said – it was a ewe-  “Coughing’s what we sheep just do.”
“Would you like some of my cough stuff?”
“No, dear”, she said, “I’m really off stuff.
Although if you should have a tot, I wouldn’t say no to a spot.”
Before I could even ask
She swigged the tea out of my flask.
“Ah, that’s good,” the sheep did sigh,
“Well,  here’s mud in your eye.
-And I’ll have that piece of pie.”
And off she went to join the flock,
Before the others ran amok.
So if one night you hear a  rumpus,
Watch out for sheep in woolly  jumpers.

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