A spider weaves a web of silk,

Shining threads that drip like milk,

It spins the strings that gently stick,

A tangled web of threads so thick.

The spider waits within its den,

Until a fly is trapped, and then,

The fly is dead, the deed is done,

The spider eats in strings it’s spun.

The mind, a spider, weaves and spins,

To trap the people, flies, within,

The silken threads are words so sweet,

That glisten, sticky, in the heat.

The venom spiders’ fangs inject,

Opinions harshly intersect,

And so within the fly is changed,

Opinions warped, thoughts exchanged.

Tangled phrases, words that wind,

Weaved by schemers, in the mind,

Beware of spiders, those who try,

To trap you in their web of lies.