William Sinclair Manson's poetry

There was a spider crawling on my floor couldn't catch the blighter to put out the door. Every day my eyes were peeled hoping it would show not on the walls, or in a corner were did it go? Open windows are needed on a hot summer night but creatures of the outside scamper for the light. Giant moths fly in tune dive-bombing by the second no care for anything in its path or a newspaper it never reckoned! Still the search is on for my spider house mate were the heck did it go? is it ready for its fate? Scanning the floor, and the walls still it does not appear the thought of it still in my  house is filling me with fear. Our eight legged furry friends have no idea how they panic a man in his middle years distraught and all too manic. Just when its out of your mind in the corner of your eye you see your friend running on the floor so cheeky and its free. Deciding on what action to take whether he will stand still or run will you do the humane thing? or shoot it with a ...