THE BASTARD SPIDERS OF RICHARD MOORE



The bastard spiders of Richard Moore

He claimed they were bastards

But we weren’t quite sure

“Aren’t all spiders bastards?”, cried Pelican Bob

We pondered on this and then went for a jog


The trees were all sighing

In the red, velvet dusk

A bat dropped a parcel

That turned out to contain - rust


When we got back,

All his spiders were dead

The realization, it seems

Had gone to their heads

©2017 Barry Cox/Flying Man Productions. All Rights Reserved.

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