She drove him wild; he married a hoarder,
A woman whose life seemed without order;
Order might be there on some cosmic scale,
But, proving that point? I think you would fail.
Her very best comfort zone was a cache
Of piles of junk mail, newspapers, and trash,
All over the house, wherever you'd look,
In every corner, every nook.
Obsessive compulsions take many forms;
Excessive neatness is one of its norms,
But hoarding's the other side of that fix;
Neatniks and hoarders are folks who don't mix.