Onehundred Eightyseven

Seeping out the window at the first floor of the apartment,
bringing the slight stench of mildew and a touch of honey mustard.
Always there, night and day, I simply can't sustain it;
For in this home there lives a gnome who loves to show much love to his begonias.
Watering them at noontime, watering them at night;
Watering them in the morn before he takes a bite.
He does oh so love those flowers, he loves them by the hours.
His mood does make me sour, I just can't express my dour.
Why must he be forever watering those begonias?
Doesn't he know they'll be just fine, if only he'd sit to sip his wine.
Let them be, you simple oaf! Take the time to bake a loaf.
Always he waters them, I'm stunned why they've not drowned.
He'll rot the building from the bottom up, if the water does not cease.
Alas I know not how, but I must convince him now;
To stop this incessant watering,
Before I start a'clobbering.
My wit is at its end, and now I'm forced to rend,
That little man out from his place.
But ho! What's this? What is that I hear?
A little voice, sweet and soft, raps gently in my ear.
"Do not harm him, mister please! For if you do you will regret,
That we have ever met."
"Who's there?!" I cry, but this is all for naught,
No one answers to my call.
"What now?" Says I, "what is it that I'm to do?"
Do I listen to that sweet small voice,
Or do I obey that other choice?
The decision lies within my hands,
What to do with that little man?
Watching that blissful botanist,
I will simply shake my fist.
But man he sure makes me-
Decision already made,
I feel myself get on my way,
And as I leave I hear him say:
"Ta, tee tee, ta, tiddley doo,
I am only half way through.
Watch me dance and watch me play,
I will see another day.
Me and all me begonia,
Have drank too much,
Far too much of that Misty Bellara."