In my house there are rules for spiders.

We may come and go as we wish.

But if we foolishly wander the flag stones;

underfoot, we may end up as squish!

 

It’s OK to live in a corner,

in a crack or under the fridge

but hang from the light or the curtains.

Then its “curtains;” slap, bang and then squidge.

 

I’d a name and a place in the corner.

I had it made in spidery way.

But one day in a foolish moment.

I was tempted and wandered astray.

 

On flowers, placed in the window.

I sunbathed while eating a fly.

And now in a cold, damp garden,

banished, in my anguish, I cry.

 

 

David Garlick, Limpley Stoke, England, September, 1999