He may call it stealth,
But we will call it weird.
Crouching down, peeking out,
Hiding behind a wiry beard.
Agendas of a hidden nature,
Cold the eyes of haunting depth.
Staring into her bedroom window,
Is too extreme, line overstepped.
Collections of her discarded garbage,
Held in trust to be adored.
Fathom out this pathological conduct,
And this darkness being stored.
Fantasize of days yet becoming,
Captive to this alarming man.
Keep your distance and your senses,
And run away whilst you still can....