Out picking blackberries one Sunday lunchtime, I saw a little spider enjoying its lunch, which was still alive at the time. The lunch tried to explain its predicament . . .
I’d heard about spiders and how they catch flies
In their webs, which are terribly sticky;
But I’d thought, ‘It can’t happen to me, I’m too wise’.
But it did; now the future looks tricky . . .
I’ve tried wriggling and kicking and buzzing my wings,
But the spider is on the horizon.
(He must have a little alarm bell, that rings
Whenever his web has got flies on . . . )
He’s coming straight at me; I just can’t get free.
He’s determined – he means to be fed.
Ouch! Mind where you’re biting! Oh dear, seems to me
Before very long, I’ll be . . .