by Nick Gisburne
The spider child, so vicious when she wakes
That those arrayed around her cannot speak
Is confident their silver-tainted stakes
Could never harm her pestilent physique
The first she kills with unpretentious ease
Dissected by her fingers as they flail
Another, slow to fathom what he sees
Retains no head to tell his tribe the tale
She dares the final trio to attack
Delighted as they each refuse to run
Courageous, it is intellect they lack
They tumble as their innards are undone
Unworthy creatures, little more than flies
She feeds upon the last, before he dies
