Olivia Capulet

Little Miss Muffet

Little miss muffet,
Frozen in habit
Alone on your throne
Like a lost little rabbit
Your coat is unruffled
Your hair is pristine
Your mother thinks that I
Am something unclean
Stroking your lips with
Honey nectar, I see
Smiling, you’ll call me
And say I am ‘Thief’
This spider, this spider
He held you too close
Run, run Miss Muffet
Tell them your woes.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 24, 2008

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Rudyard Kipling


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