Spider, will ye trap a fly tonight?
In darkened corners, watchin’ still an’ calm.
Each leg does flex, a-beckonin’ the sight
O’ some winged dish, so unaware o’ harm.
An’ so ‘e buzzes, straight towards yer bed,
An’ sticky substances from deep within.
But at the plunge o’ that poor bugger’s head,
‘E finds the trap that she was born ta spin…
And so it grows, the web, with every pluck –
The thin silks creepin’ to yer very door.
All sparklin’ by morn, wi’ dew an’ such…
As she creeps down an’ hides beneath the floor.