A poem کے بول

Twice an hour I think of me On the dot of half past three I keep appointments with my man He worships me My greatest fan And on the dot of half past one My image is the oblique pun Appear my sweet and flick your brow I know you often wonder how I wan and woo my Sherlock smile To know what angle is a trial My teeth are straight My eyes are blue I know I lie ? I wonder if I'll meet my match I don't get uptight about that For on the dot of half past three I stop ? and think of me