The Spider

A loft! I am estranged, a cold figure upon my floor doest lay He is crooked, his face be pale and I can not despise to see That face, that face; those eight ugly legs, I loathe they be A heathen! This broken image, I am estranged for it to say Oh, God! Why, you shameless figure, why do you haunt me so Am I to sulk the night, afraid of these creatures, and their eyes? Yes, eyes that see even to spot the most unfortunate of flies Mute! That is their passion; to see me, a figure of an angel, lo Find my steps dainty, find them wiggled with caution, I confess There is no other to that which I would so much concede As to be rid of this oddity, which I so seemed to make seed. Black as their heart, I will quash their whole, truly a solemn mess Be quiet! Be faint, I am estranged, for I have a love, it must Froth, hate me for I must tell it true, I am in affair with a beast My heart breaks, but it does tell me true, I see in him a feast. Finality! I will tear this from its boundaries, for its very crust. Tonight as the moon strikes full, I find my broken face, sewn In the light of a pool, a lake in the palm of a spoon I stare Upon my steely web I slink, a tribute to my own fear, bare Forever, I am;-- a broken, estranged widow, always alone