Dead spider on the floor, once you lived but nevermore,
Silent witness of a world where shadows writhe and soar.
With fragile legs and venomous fangs, your essence now is lost,
In the realm of arachnid dreams, where darkness is embossed.
Once you spun your silky threads, a weaver’s delicate art,
Ensnaring unsuspecting prey, tearing lives apart.
In corners dank, you patiently waited, lurking in the gloom,
A harbinger of dread and doom, a master of your tomb.
Your corpse lies cold, devoid of life, devoid of destiny,
But tales of your macabre dance persist eternally.
Awe and dread intertwine, as whispers through the night,
Painting portraits of fear, a chilling, haunting sight.
Oh, how your body crumbles, an emblem of decay,
A symbol of mortality that none can disobey.
The cobwebs you once wove now sag, a fragile, tattered lace,
An epitaph to creatures small, a specter in this space.
Yet in your death, you birth anew, an omen of the past,
For shadows cast upon the floor shall never truly last.
In darkness, where your spirit dwells, whispers forevermore,
A haunting reminder of life’s frailty, down to its very core.
So rest in peace, dear spider, in the realm of the deceased,
Your presence lingers in our hearts, a haunting, silent beast.
Dead spider on the floor, you’ve left a chilling lore,
A testament to your existence, forever to explore.
