The Alacrity of Spiders
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."