The White Spider's Day

a poem by Linda Bates Terrell, USA

Beside the fancy fake lace rose bouquet
A spider, hoping it to be his lucky day
Neath my sewing box and old magazines
Sits a white spider in a web of tangarine
As the sun reflects the colors all aglow
He worked fast then he worked slow
Within dust specs glowing in the light sometimes
He sings his songs and tells me his rhymes
An when the nights darkness fell
I'd sneek round the corner-- and I'd yell
His legs froze, clutched on the web curing
His little mind surely, began swirling
He wobbled back and forth, to and fro
Silly spider, had no clue which way to go
Till I laughed at him so loud and foolishly
Suddenly in his web, landed a fat black flea
The spider licked his lips, and yells hurrah
That flea, it tried desperately to hop away
But no luck for the flea--- it had to stay
His tiny little legs had no more bounce
An upon the ground no more, could he pounce
Stuck in the spiders web-- oh so tight
About to be the spider's supper's delight
Till out of no were, the dog runs by
Well... that spider gasped, and began to cry.
His supper and his web-- all swept away
Spider's now, within my fancy fake lace rose bouquet

Linda Bates Terrell
Written © July 16, 2013

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