The Spider-Poet
A fly met a poetic-spider
The fly wanted to know
How the poems were written
Keeping his distance but quite smitten
“I don’t know they just come out that way…”
Said the poetic-spider to the fly – adding:
‘My poetic brilliance will catch you by and by…’
So up into the stratosphere he – the fly – did fly
Living to fly another day
Until the next poet he did encounter
With bootleg versions below the counter
The fly entranced with the spider’s dulcet tones
Got distracted into his web-zones
All chained-up in sticky web and saliva
He now got the words recited in his ear
Amidst the spider’s dastardly sneer
Punishment-torture – were those rhymes
As the fly lay suffocating in the web – this time
His last gasp exhaled out-past the spider’s nasal
The spider had just asked for his critical appraisal
With gasping breath and stuttering words
The fly admitted ‘it wasn’t for the birds’
‘Not to my taste’ was his last farewell
The poet paused in his daily routine
Of performing his poems to tourist fly-teams
His poems were loaded with hidden meaning
As his long legs made their way across the ceiling
Lying in wait he started to recite
With a Nobel prize in his mind’s-eye
When suddenly the fly he thought dead
started to fly
seedsinmotiontruthnart 