“Sit at my side,” said Miss Spider to the fly.
“You may watch me weave this web of mine.”
He first hesitated, but then took a seat
At Miss Spider’s side, but not at her feet.
The fly watched for a moment, and then he declared,
“Miss Spider, your passion is evident here!”
Miss Spider tossed back her head as she laughed.
“Silly boy,” she thought, and continued her craft.
Fly watched and he watched, not once turning his head.
Miss Spider took notice, and then calmly said,
“This object of beauty means nothing to me.
It’s merely a trap for you, you see?
You flies, one and all, you are the same.
We Spiders, though lovely, still must play your game.
Yet we find our way around your rules,
Knowing you flies are a beauty’s fools.”
The fly did sit.
And the fly did stare,
As Miss Spider constructed her intimate lair.
Her words had hit him like a bolt in the heart.
He wondered if he could go back to the start.
When the time finally came, Miss Spider invited him in,
But he went running back to Mrs. Fly, once again.
Lonely, once more, Miss Spider took heed,
And considered a change in the life she did lead.
Miss Spider pondered and wondered, and gave much thought
To her pursuit of the fly, and to her own lot.
She decided that day, that she’d rather starve
Than to play all these games,
For it was too high a cost.
Miss Spider took her place
Deep in her web.
Her back turned to to love, she cried,