I’m forever hoarding baubles,
putting baubles everywhere.
Sometimes I buy, other times I pry
them from people—a thief am I.
Fortune I am hiding,
some here and some there.
I’m a klepto hoarding baubles,
pilfered baubles that I snare.

I’ve reams and reams that teem and teem
in vaults, piled way up high.
More than a few, I’ve got a slew.
My friends are asking me, “Why
do you do all of that hoarding?!
You sure must find it rewarding!”

They’re negating hoarding baubles,
of which I’ve a giant share.
And they reply, I oughta decry
this behavior; I riposte, “Why?!”
Forcefully I chide ’em;
frosty is the air.
I’ll press on with hoarding baubles.
People squabble? I don’t care.

With feelings deep, they call me “creep”;
to them, no heed I pay.
They call me “flake,” but that don’t shake
my resolve in any way.
Hoardiness will always cheer me;
“Hoarding mess!” is how they jeer me.

I’m resplendent sporting baubles,
pretty baubles that I wear.
When people spy adorned I, their eyes
and brows will rise high to the skies.
Forego any chiding,
get no highbrow airs.
I’m respected sporting baubles,
pretty baubles everywhere.