The Hair Collector
A poem, designed to scare little girls but which fails on account of them being too damned grown-up these days.
Oh, everyone knows it, that spiders eat flies
That they make sticky webs and then wait on the sides
Then they watch very carefully with 6 (or 8) eyes
And they wait ’till their web snares a wonderful prize!
The web’s tight and sticky, a terrible net
Once the fly is entwined it’s as stuck as can get
Will it wriggle and free itself? I wouldn’t bet
When the spider gets near, it’s too late for a vet!
So the spider bares down on its poor frightened prey
I think for the fly it’s the end of the day
It won’t see tomorrow, I think we can say
For the spider’s new web has become a café!
But are there some spiders that can’t do it right?
Who can’t make a web and can’t make their silk tight?
Who squeeze and they squeeeeeeze as hard as they might
But can’t squeeze out silk if they try to all night?
Well, there are and their tale is a terrible thing
They can’t make their silk; they can’t cling, swing and fling!
They have to be sharp to deliver their sting
If they want to make webs and to live till the spring
So what do you think that they might use instead?
What’s as good for new webs as their natural silk thread?
If I tell you right now it’ll fill you with dread!
It’s the hairs that you grow on your poor little head!
That’s right, little child, you’re quite right to have fright
For they sneak down the walls in the height of the night
And steal hair from your head when you’re snoozy polite
And work fast to make webs till the sun casts its light
So next time a spider you see in its lair
Be sure to look closely, as close as you dare
If the web’s not of silk but looks brown, blonde or fair
Then perhaps it is made of a small child’s hair!
A poem written to scare my 5 year-old. It didn’t work.