Sidney The Spider

 

He sometimes sits at the bottom of the bath,

And chuckles to himself with a fearful laugh,

But his favourite place to tell his yarns,

Is inside the dusty and dark country barns.

 

Threads of silver he weaves with hairy hands,

And says he’s sailed to far away lands,

And lures the shiny little black flies,

Who listen with wide and curious eyes.

 

For Sidney is a spider wise

And knows the flies adore his lies.

He shows his nets and says he fishes

But, the poor little flies are his favourite dishes

 

The inspector of the CID

Was none other than Bobby Bee

Who whilst wandering down the country lane

Perchanced upon a dirty drain.

 

Bobby knew something was afoot

And entered the barn to take a look

“Why aren’t the flies dining today?”

Sidney the Spider heard him say.

 

“I heard them say they were going to lunch.”

Sidney said, with a little crunch

and scuttled quickly from the barn

leaving behind his sticky yarn

 

“Sidney Spider, I’m arresting you

Eating flies just will not do.”

Then Bobby Bee straightened his suit

As Sidney died beneath a boot

 

Squashed beneath the farmers stride

Bobby buzzed about with pride

Sticky webs and all those lies

Aren’t any good for little flies.