My mother, washing up, Saw through her kitchen window, A well established, large For Wales, spider. Chomping a common and definitely Garden butterfly. Angered at beauty, Being eaten by perceived beast, She hacked and smacked, The spider's most intricate web-site, Destroying a work of art and architecture, For an already dead and beaten Bit of beauty queen, Which unlike the hirsute hit-man, Never did diddley-squat for pest control. © kfg moore dec. 2001
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