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.