Lela the Legless

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The spider, it crawled,
It creeped; it wriggled,
Into the sole
of an ancient shoe.

Abandoned, the shoe
had fallen, downhill,
and had come to rest
where the wind never blew.

Dry and warm,
the sole-fabric nestled
the spider –
and later-on, her brood

And to the spiders,
the shoe was a palace;
Even though
some might think it crude:

It sheltered them
from wind and storm
And gave the little ‘uns
room to play –

That ratty shoe
has made a home
for five generations,
now, today.

But here you came,
galumphing down
the hill, down which
that shoe had tumbled;

And as you ran,
your toe caught on
the lip of that shoe,
and your step, it fumbled.

And out came Grandpa,
Sue, and Tim,
Scurrying hastily
for their lives;

Their safe haven broken,
knocked over and squished,
Trampled and trodden
by your size fives.

Benny and Joe,
Frank and Molly,
All made it out,
All legs intact;

Most of the spiders
got out uninjured;
only one hurt,
as a matter of fact:

“Lela the Legless”
is now her name,
but she wears it with pride,
as she carries her fame.

All know her story:
how your monstrous shoe
knocked loose the stone
that would make her lame;

How the stone caused a rockslide
that tumbled and rumbled,
pinning her
down under the scree;

How her brothers and sisters
all stopped to help her,
even while
they tried to flee;

Each grabbed a leg;
Each gave a pull,
But one by one,
They all came off!

It was Grandpa
who saved
the day, that day;
Grandpa, yes, that grey old toff –

He hoisted the rock
Off poor Lela’s head,
dug her out,
and carried her down;

And setting her on
a soft mossy spot,
He gently and closely
examined her crown.

Each of her siblings
Brought him a leg,
and he tried
to attach them, again;

But to reattach them
couldn’t be done,
not even with
all web they could spin.

And so, “Legless”
was how Lela remained;
her siblings
carried her all around,

In a litter
spun from the finest threads,
of silk
mixed with fluffy down.

And each
night at twilight,
the family sits outside,
their gazes meandering over

To where,
were it not
for your misguided trot,
that shoe nestled in the deep clover

would still
be their home,
their lovely abode,
a sixth generation begun.

Instead,
they reside
in an old metal can,
and they’ll thank you not to make fun!

~ Saoirse Fae

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2019

All images public domain

Originally published on Saoirse Fae’s WordPress – the original post is linked Here