godnix (greyfeld) wrote,

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Strange ramble —doggerel, in a buggy sort of way

So, she went into the garden etc

Really, said the spider, I wish to web you not for your death but for my life. It matters not to me that you will never fly. Nor may you blame my poison for your struggle; it is only what I am and what I do. Your billions of offspring would choke the world, did I and those like me not need to spin for food. Am I an evil? For you, yes, I am; were I capable of sorrow, I would apologize. But every eater is evil to its food, unless the food somehow enjoys being eaten. Well.

How nice for you, the fly replied. You had a meal, and so I died. Was this the end for which i came into this world? For shame! So free was I to flit about for one brief moment; then, snuffed out.

So might the dinner-talk have gone for hours more, if not for one who interrupted on that date; whose job was to exterminate.

feeling only a bit strangely today
Tags: journal, poetry

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