Will you walk into my parlour?
Said the spider to the fly
'Tis no trick of verse or voice of colour
For now I've shed my thin disguise.
Come and share my daily spread
'Tis finer fare than fish or bread
For I toiled and troubled in a tree of beasts
To procure thee this virgin feast.
In her world of haploid sisters
This Amazon hunter will no more wander
My leap of bad faith has saved her neck
From a loveless life of treetop labour.