Spiders scuttle up the drainpipes
In the middle of the night
Appearing up the plug holes
To give us all a fright.
Spiders in the garden
Spinning lots of webs
Running up and down them
On little bendy legs.
Raindrops on the weblings
Stretched among the leaves
Different sorts of rainbows
Hanging from the trees.
But, spiders on the carpet
Running fast for cover
Caught despite their many eyes
And removed by spider lover.
You have your uses catching flies
Your silken thread you weave
And make them into bumbler pies
Which hanging up you leave.
Please scuttle down my drainpipes
In the middle of the night
I've plugged up all the plugholes
To keep you out, so thats all right.
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I don't like spiders. They spin webs intended for insects and such-like critters, and instead end up trapping little, helpless forest-folk that can't even use their magicks to escape.
No, I don't like spiders, beautiful though some may be, and useful though others might be found to be.
I don't like anything that hurts the little forest-folk.
But I liked your poem, even if I didn't like what it talked about.
Thats my fear factor... SPIDERS>>YUCK. Great write and you draw us in to your poem, because we all can relate to your story. SPIDERS>>YUCK. Thanks, Anthony