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
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