Cheryl Love (1.12.1958 / Warwickshire)
This big black thing with legs galore
Sits reading a newspaper by the door.
He has a smile on his face
He knows the affect he has on the place.
One foot in the door and he hears screams
About him - or so it seems.
He cant work it out - does nothing wrong
Screams and squeals he hears all day long.
He is lonely, not a soul will come in the door
He hates being by himself, it's such a bore.
But he sits alone with his cobweb by his side
He wished he could have a mate in which to confide.
But other spiders are few and far between
The odd fly is all that he has seen.
And excited people waving arms in the air
And all he gets is a nervous stare.
'I'm not going to bite or jump on top of you,
there is no need to be nervous like you do'.
So he taps his many feet, whistling a tune
Admiring the glow of the early evening moon.
In walks a human being - he counts to three
Yes, as envisaged he starts screaming at me!
'Stay, I'm not that bad, please stay'
he begs, 'I need company today'.
But they have gone.
Comments about this poem (The Spider by Cheryl Love )
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