by W.Bough (Bill)
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See him scuttle down the wall,
Across the floor, then to the hall,
Where is he going, where has he been?
My eight legged friend so rarely seen.
I know he's around, I see his weaving,
Glimpse fleeting limbs as he is leaving,
He eats the fly, the flea, the mite,
Traversing the walls and ceiling at night.
He takes his job so seriously,
Defying the laws of gravity,
He slips, he falls, but he is fine,
Deploying a natural safety line.
Mutual respect between him and me,
He's wary of you and me, you see,
He means no harm, just trying to live,
Leave him be, he has much to give.