The spider weaves his wicked web,
A spinning fury, ‘bove my head.
He hangs, a menacing fist of fur.
Of any movement he’s aware.
A “Deadly Sixty” that’s for sure.
His ven’mous bite just has no cure.
Tarant’la terror, oh so true,
How to escape him, haven’t a clue.

by Paul Butters

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