Spider, will you trap a fly tonight?
In darkened corners, watching still and calm.
Each leg does flex, a-beckoning the sight
Of some winged dish, so unaware of harm.
And so he buzzes, straight towards your bed,
And sticky substances from deep within.
But at the plunge o’ that poor bugger’s head,
He finds the trap that she was born to spin…
And so it grows, the web, with every pluck –
The thin silks creeping to yer very door.
All sparkling by morn, with dew and such…
As she creeps down and hides beneath the floor.


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