O, happy kill
And with pure will
The tiny Widow
Hauls whole snails
Down below
To feed her sacks
Of tiny brats
By the hundreds
They will flow
Into my dreams
Reminding me though
There are things
I do not like!
Like counting spiders
Through the night
Who creep and sneak
And crawl to fright me
Out of my slumber cold.
Though I’m not their prey
A snack they may
Make from me
In the morning light.
(But, truly they were never there…
Just in my dreams and
Awakened stares
Taking from me my
Restful delights.)
*Alacrity – Not a common word for most. I stole it from William Carlos Williams. “Brisk and cheerful readiness.”
One reply on “The Alacrity of Spiders”
[…] Make it silly or foolish or about a baboon. All words have meanings, some better than most. With alacrity write something, even a boast. Yes write me a poem, today is the day. Pick one word or a dozen, […]