Spider Poem

My 8 legged friend, 

How humble thy be

Next to mine device

All happy and glee

Thy sat on the table

Minding thy business

Strutting thine outfits and webs of white

Lord only knows of your oncoming plight

Thy sat on the table, minding thy business

When a hand came down like a thunder

And thy pinhead body was torn asunder

Thy legs now crumbled and brain in a soup

I curse the culprit that had turned you to goop

I now sit in mourning

Thinking of thee and your horrible scorning

The poem now ends with a tragic note

In your next life be careful, don’t gloat

My 8 legged friend, stay your humble self.