Creepy Crawly Spider Momma
Heavy, shaking, thundering steps
Landscape rumbling with her path
each appendage denting the granite beneath

Many little baby spiders
clinging, desperately, to her back
they slip and fall and jostle down
upon the earth
on which they crack

Carapace, shifting, children, drifting
shaking, trembling, terrified.
Octo eyed with no vision of her progeny
Mother spider arrives empty

Little Timmy and his bee,
Together, so jolly.
They dance and prance all around,
Making much merry sound.

Little Timmy and his bee also fight,
and one day there's quite a fright.
Bees don't last very long,
but this one is too soon gone.

Little Timmy walks around
with the stinger in his hand.

Little Timmy,
why don't you take it out?

A myriad doors in front of you,
which one will you choose?
Imagine you guess it wrong,
imagine you don't get it right,
you only stand to lose.

So sing yourself a merry song,
and don't you dare take the risk.
Stay right there in your place,
and sit in your fake bliss.

The little can that could,
In a universe of wood,
it alone was made of aluminum,
clanging a metallic thrum,
a solitary tone,
a little cheery melody.

Who is that little metal can?
How does it exist so happily?
Please tell me; I'm a big fan.