Richard Allen Beevor
The Spider And I - Poem by Richard Allen Beevor
As I reclined one happy day,
on a hill both old and wise,
the sun came down close to my face,
and seemed to spin within my eyes.
Its rotation rapid, filling up my brain,
my chest rose high to heave,
solar rays of intense heat pierced my heart,
my lungs had ceased to breathe.
In the ensuing storm my legs violent shook
and my arms began to flail,
the sun merged with my body,
the little I could resist was of no avail.
In one hour I became a torso torn open,
limbs dismembered by sun's light'
I lay on a hill and considered
how to leave while in this plight.
When into my dismantled remains
crept there a spider black and yellow,
a great hairy beast, six inches wide,
an extremely gruesome fellow.
He poked and prodded softer parts of my body,
going where ever his whim
and there he soaked and swam in blood
licking that which ran over him.
After this he ate all and more,
that his tiny mouth could devour,
then in contentment of his repast
lay to sleep on my heart for an hour.
Now I am not an evil man
and did not begrudge him a place to lay his head,
indeed I considered that I would probably
make a very comfortable bed.
In an hour from deep slumber
the spider woke fresh and filled,
he had dreamed a dream of new homes
and at once set out to build.
Thread by thread he weaved a web
bout each part of my body (working in all weather)
on and on he spun until his net
joined every part of me once again together.
Whole again I stood to see the world
my face bathed, in clean fresh air,
when I felt a strange crawling feeling
in my belly and wondered, 'What's there! '
Of course I knew, the spider's still within,
feeling sorry for his plight but thinking fair is fair
I will carry him to his rebirth,
our hearts and homes we share.
Comments about The Spider And I by Richard Allen Beevor
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe