Her arms are long, for the purpose.
She weaves no web but lies in wait
Like a shark beneath the surface
Who waits for divers to make mistakes.
She is pretty, through and through,
At home in petals and morning dew.
But insects fear the deadly repose
Of this spider colored yellow like the rose.
A strong embrace, a many-eyed face.
Let her get closer, just for a taste.
You chose the plant, the flower too,
And now Misumena is devouring you.
"It's not so simple," she might say.
"Give me a chance, let me explain.
Sit nearer my dear, yes, sit for a spell
Your eyes won't grow weary from the story I tell.
You see, my kind are noble unlike some men you know,
Those cowards who hunt with rifle or bow.
We wrestle our prey down from the sky
And beneath the flower's petals, twitching they die.
So you be the judge, tell me what's worst:
Catching the prey or shooting it first?
Which one takes prowess and which one takes skill?
Pulling the trigger? Or a battle of wills?
Our beauty is danger, we are part of nature.
We wait, we catch, we kill.
So please think twice about a spider so nice
Before you speak ill-will."