Tiny Tim
There's a tiny spiderDangling from the shelf,There's a tiny spiderHiding itself. There's a tiny spider in my roomHaving hung itself,And usually these creepers creep me outBut this one's good company to me,Through self pity and dread There's been a tiny spiderDangling from the shelf, for days.I wonder if my creeper is dead.Now I go back to being jitteryAt the sight of 'em There's a dead spider in my roomAnd it's dangling from the shelfAs if caught in its own web,Trapped like a fly,Its own would-have-been-meal. There's a spider dangling from the shelfNext to the chun lian,So minuscule in comparison,So insignificant. A speck of dust might have done a better job at showing itself off,Tiny Tim doesn't leave half a shadow on the wall.It hangs there and when I blow it,It doesn't cringe, scatter or scramble like miceOr cats at loud and sudden noise. My little creeper's dead.Entangled with Death.They say if you dance with the devil, it might be your last.All eight Legs coiled into itselfOh! the pityOh! the dreadNow he swings in the draft,Back and forth to no end