What a year for spiders,
Their webs are everywhere.
You don’t see them draped across the path,
Until they are in your hair.

Spiders on the ceiling,
Spiders on the wall.
Spiders lurking everywhere,
Making me creep and crawl.

Spiders in the wash bowl,
Spiders in the bath.
Spiders creeping up the loo,
Makes me jump off fast.

Spiders in your wellies,
Spiders in your shoe.
Take a look and check them,
Or it will be a squashed one too.

Spiders across the pathway,
Spiders in the bush.
Spiders dangling down from trees,
I turn away and rush.

I’m just at Common Garden spider,
With my ‘Cross’ marking I have to bear.
Won’t you come and see my work,
I really have quite a flare.

What a year for spiders,
Their webs are everywhere.
You don’t see them draped across the path,
Until they are in your hair.

Such a clever silken cobweb,
Shimmering there in the dew.
Sunlight enhances the design,
Cleverly catching the curious few.

Spiders making cobwebs,
Such intricate designs.
Waiting patiently for a catch,
As the fly becomes entwined.

We have a hairy monster,
Boris is his name.
With eight long legs a dangling,
And they all look the same.

Standing at our back door,
Boris abseils down his web.
I feel him on my parting,
He’s tapping on my head.

I spied him scurrying across the floor,
He tried to crawl up my leg.
Jumping up and down, I shook him off,
Then leapt straight into bed.

What a year for spiders,
Their webs are everywhere.
You don’t see them draped across the path,
Until they are in your hair.