An Ode To My Stalker, while I cannot sleep…

In the absurdity of things, I have found some rather immature stalker tracing my whereabouts, for what purpose I know not, other than for a strange amusement. I am not famous, do not drive a Lexus, nor have a big house on the hill (although said stalker might  find solace in such a place as the house on the hill). It is with partial amusement, and partial caffeine-overload, that I begin a nice little poem, more in the style of Mister Seuss than Mister Shakespeare. Please be assured I am most likely not speaking of you, since 90.99999999% of the people reading my posts are…well, likely normal people….or at least don’t want to know what I brush my teeth with at night…

It is strange, you see-

to follow after me.

I am not so tall, nor so wide

so I can always go into the bushes to hide.

but- you follow me here and follow me there

what purpose is this, that I should care?

my socks are not green

nor my hair turning white

I cannot discern why you would so delight

in knowing my weight and especially my height

and what dental products I have on my shelves

and what I think of hobbits and certainly of elves

it makes no sense, it doesn’t compute

I thought you were sane and a bit more astute.

But now that I know how your mind is quite muddled

I stand on my head, entirely befuddled…

and nearly asleep, finally.