This man names his garden gnomes
After joes called James or Jack.
You'd need the help of Sherlock Holmes
To find out why he paints them black.

He also glues things to his door,
Things like paperclips and stuff.
And saucers too. He'd glue one more,
But the door already has enough.

He wears a cloak and holds a staff,
And talks in a deep, foreboding voice.
He points as well. I wouldn't laugh.
He's quieter when he talks to mice.

'Emweth Hezwig' is his name.
He had it changed, as did his cat.
He once was Dan. That's not the same
As his name now. I spotted that.

Ask why he does what he does,
And after staring at your nose
He'll say it's simply all because
It helps confuse his many foes.

He plays darts. He's good at that.
His foes are those he plays in pubs,
Or tournaments, with his lucky hat,
The one with the label 'made from cubs'.

With staff in hand at start of games,
"I am a dartist," he will say.
He glares at them and often blames
His foes for why the sky is grey.

They lose their calm. He always wins.
Slightly odd. A nice chap, though.
He often laughs or smiles or grins.
If you see him with a crossbow, go.