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A Dash Of Worcester
A spider dropped into my soup
oxtail it was
with a dash of Worcester
he popped right up
and made for shore
not too hairy
nor too large
for a heart-beat
I could only stare
as he bobbed about
in my bowl of soup
released from my dismay
I reached in with my spoon
scooped him out
and tipped him onto the table
as I watched him scurry away
all spidey-like
without so much
as a backward glance
I dearly wished
that I could speak spider.
Copyright ©
Rory Galbraith
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