THE STRANGE MAN
A big ol’ chap lived down the street
Right across from the butchers shop o’ meat.

It was probably this sight that made him what he was,
For his face looked ever like a beet.

And his hands were wrinkled, not in an aged way,
But a pattern so bizarre, all the handshakes stayed away.

And his hair, oh his hair, they were ever so bright,
Even birds fell, blinded, by the reflected light.

What he wore one would not really call them clothes,
For they were not more than a tattered robe, and a stole, yes a stole!

His gait resembled that of a monkey,
Odd-timed, asymmetrical and his back a little stoopey

The worst of the worst was the stench of his body,
So bad, it would clear the busiest of lobbies

All in all, this was a man to be messed with,
And legend has it, he who dares to, will have the same fate as him.
– NEEL BAKSHI