With apologies to those who may be afflicted with arachnephobia, I’ll continue with yesterday’s spider theme. I promise this is the last one, at least for a while. I wrote this rhymed story for my granddaughter when she was quite small.
The Secret in the Hole
Sara found a hole in the ground; A smallish hole, dark and round.
The hole made Sara stop to wonder, Who would live in a home down under?
A tunnel home as dark as night Would surely need a lamp for light.
Sara liked the bright, bright sun. A tunnel home would not be fun.
What about a rainy day? Would the owner wash away?
Was the occupant within Short and round or long and thin?
Did it scurry, scamper, scoot? Who would live beneath a root?
That whitish door across the hole Would not appeal to mouse or mole.
Then right before her watching eyes, A smallish shape began to rise.
The watching Sara now could see It was no snake nor bumblebee.
It had eight legs, all bristly, hairy, And looked to her a wee bit scary
The door moved out then opened wider To show a fuzzy trapdoor spider.
Then with a pounce and with a tug, The spider caught a careless bug.
And slipped inside its tiny door, A secret resident no more.
–Blanche Day Manos
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