The spider
This spider
was born in a house,
Did not see
a leopard or a mouse.
It scurried
around the house of Chiles,
All it saw
was many many tiles.
The tiles
were coloured yellow blue green and red,
But beyond
the blue he would not step.
He wondered
what the colour would do,
It may catch
him, swallow him or colour him too.
One day Mr.
Chiles was stuck in a garden pit,
He screamed
for help, for his foot was slit.
The spider
heard him yell and squeal,
He was hurt
on his head and heel.
The spider
could run on his eight feet,
Faster than
any man could reach.
But the
tiles of yellow green and red,
Left him shivering,
he dares not tread.
The spider
climbed up the wall and spit his thread,
Lost his
balance and fell on the red.
The red one
was a rough tile,
Some
standing some sleeping lines.
When he went
over the green,
It was
sticky from the last evening meal.
And yellow
just looked too bright,
And glowed
in the dark scared him with light.
Different
tiles felt different on his feet,
Not exactly scary,
only a different seat.
So, the
spider hopped skipped and jumped across,
Over the
yellow red and the green like moss.
He finally
reached Mr. Chile,
Spat his web
on the slit line.
His wound
healed in a few hours,
He could now
walk around near and far.
Thus, the
spider saved Mr. Chile,
Or Mr. Chile
opened him up to the coloured tiles.
