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The portrait stare ressembles a ghost.
It faces me wherever I hide.
It cannot stop nor get lost.
That is nothing to give it pride.
Thw portrait does not scare me at most.
I love in its stare to ride.
The portrait faces me to the west.
It stops not when am northwards.
The portraits stops not if I turn to the east.
It follows me right southwards.
Should I stop in my quest?
The stare follows me skywards.
I would fear was I to be a seasoned robber.
The stare will bore deep into my heart.
Like the cops it will have me clobber.
Its stare will have me smell a rat.
This poem is just a blabber.
Lets hope it never made you spat.
