Posted in Poems - A Collection of Expressions, The Wandering Mind

Uncanny Tales

“Step into my parlour,”

Said the Spider to the Fly.

“I’m having roast for dinner.

I was told you would be by.

Sit right down beside me,

As we watch the brown spit turn,

Making us our dinner,

That the fire must not burn.”

 

“Oh dear Mister Spider,”

Said the Fly now to her host.

“I was told that I should be here,

To grieve my solemn most.

For there you have my brother

Roasting on your fiery spit.

There’ll be no more time to mourn him,

Once he’s ready to be ate.”

 

“Dear me, Miss Fly!

I am sure I did not know!

How it is your brother came

To be roasting on my stove.

Perhaps a hunter’s skill

Has overshot a mile.

Or mine eyesight must be going,

To have stuck the innocent child.”

 

“Be it as it may, Mister Spider,

Now there’d my brother be a-lying.

Having been by you brought forth

From his smoke and ashy pyre.

His countenance has not, I see,

By burning much improved.

Per’aps better than a coffin-lay,

Your dinner he may prove!”

 

© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.

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Author:

An avid reader, thinker, daydreamer and listener. I like black cats and warm rain and fast cars. And oh yes, I quite like to write too!!

7 thoughts on “Uncanny Tales

  1. Wow Ruth. I love the way you’ve turned this into a twisted yet deep poem. And I love the language you’ve used. Little little wonders like “be a-lying”. Thouroughly enjoyed this. I once tried something similar on “Jack and Jill”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Haha. I have no idea where this came from, to be honest. Just that the old rhyme floated into my mind and the next thing I know, I’ve written the whole thing! But, boy, was that fun! 😀 So glad you’ve enjoyed it. I’ll be looking for ‘Jack and Jill’.

      Liked by 1 person

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