The shocked insect struggles to disentangle
His horny shell from sticky, reticulate
Thread, that attempts to crush his sterling mettle.
The silken wires tighten in the delicate
Shade of the night, as a spider with slow zeal
Wanders across its deadly dining room.
The exhausted bug, fearing the dreadful feel
Of scissor jaws, complains of coming doom.
He rues the actions he performed to sever
The frail thread of his painful crosstitched breath.
His plan to hunt here raised the fatal lever
Of this concealed guillotine poised for death.
'So why not me!' He cries, unable to defend
The fact that he designed his brutal end.