Waste Not, Want Not

Horace was a hoarder he kept everything Rusty machinery, old books, paper and string It wasn't just his waste he could not throw away Horace collected other junk every single day Completely unable to put anything in a bin To Horace this was wasteful he thought this a sin Soon his house was bulging with garbage galore Every room, hall and stairs stacked from ceiling to floor One would think by this time Horace would realise He had an addiction and should try to downsize The rubbish started rotting took on a putrid smell Horace seemed not to notice and thought all was well Perhaps one day soon not too far away Doctors will find a cure that will help to allay This awful disease so hard to understand It's not a way of life most of of us would have planned Did Horace choose to exist with this way of life He seems quite content it doesn't cause him strife Why should it bother us, we are not all the same It's called the luck of the draw life is like a game We all see things differently on this we must agree What we call an affliction others call eccentricity