Weaving round and around, creating the lair,
she hung the web from chair to chair.
Moving in circles, again and again,
the finished trap was now her pen.
"There’s no way out and nothing new!"
"Who made this web, was it not you?"
asked the wind as it blew through,
"You chose this place, is that not true?"
The spider moved on, singing a song:
"That was a place I didn’t belong
and it’s so good to be long gone!
Why oh why did I stay so long?"