It was dusk.

The children were out with nets and darting eyes,
Hoping to get their share of the fireflies.
But meanwhile, in a nearby bush,
A spider gave a tiny push

At her soon-to-be mate to wake him up.

It was time for them to weave something beautiful,
A masterpiece made from a substance wonderful.
They looked like they were dancing to some absent melody,
Dancing and prancing like a groom and his lady

As they nimbly and gracefully wove their web.

But soon, Alas! It was done!
Remember, two hands are better than one!
This thing about them, so obviously,
They loved each other, unmistakably.

But this was not to last.

The boys’ mother came out to the yard,
And started picking berries, put into a bucket that used to be lard.
When she got to the spiders, she picked up a hoe, I don’t know; I guess to look tough?
The spiders’ minds operated quickly, but not fast enough.

In a flash, it was over.

They never got to live a happy, golden life,
Their lives cut short without any strife.
I bet you can’t believe this cruel murder,
But the worst part is:

It happens all over.