There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
From furniture to photo albums; they don't discriminate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,
A fuzzy one upon a lamp may be large amongst the kings,
But he is a mere marble against the female's fearsome weight,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
They evoke a sensory response- I swat my arms until it stings,
I would not in a million years have ever guessed this was my fate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,
Writhing on the undersides and skittering over strings,
And worst off are the things in boxes, they've infested every crate,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
I found them in the jewelry box when I found my missing rings,
Their egg sacks cling to everything as they feed and and grow and mate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,
I cringe as they scurry toward my hands, as each one jumps and flings,
Their infestation evidence that my sentimental heart's the bait,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings