"THE SPIDER WHO IS WEI" for Rhonda

"Will you please join in my discourse? said the spider who is Wei;
"'Tis the stickiest little discourse that ever you did try.
The way into my discourse is through a splitting hair
And I have many a tidy point to contrast and compare.
"O no, no", said the poet's fan, to ask me is in vain,
For who takes up your splitting hairs can ne'er come out again."

"I'm sure you must be doubting, now, that Ezra up so high;
Do you want a little argument? said the spider who is Wei.
I have pretty syllogisms round, my barbs are sharp but thin
And if you try to answer me, I'll surely box you in."
"O no, no ", said the poet's fan, "for I've often heard it said,
That everything Pound ever wrote, you more than once have read.

Said the cunning spider who is Wei, "Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have upon my bookshelf everything to suit,
To quote, and crib, and argue 'til I make a person mute.
"O no, no", said the poet's fan, "kind sir, that I do not need;
I"ve heard what's on your bookshelf, and that I do not wish to read.

"Smart creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How trenchant are your vivid words, how brilliant your asides!
Come argue a little while with me, I'm sure you have the time,
Afterall the net is free; it doesn't cost a dime."
"I thank you, gentle sir", he said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning now, I'll post another day."

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew that poet guy would soon be back again.
So he made a subtle box, with all little corners sly
And set his ego ready to rain upon the guy.
Then he came out to his door again, and verily did quote
"Come hither, hither, poet guy, log in now, look what I just wrote.
Your words are green and purple; there's a wreath upon your head;
Your soul rises with the sun, but mine is dull and dead."

Alas, alas! how very soon that singing poet guy,
Hearing his wily inviting words, came navigating by.
On buzzing lines he waited, 'til he could click his mouse,
Thinking only of his brilliant lines, and safe within his house,
Thinking only of his wreathed head - poor fan! At last
On logged the cunning spider, and fiercely held him fast.
He dragged him into splitting hairs, and into arguments,
Within this sticky discourse, too late he now laments!

And now, dear little listers, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, arguing words, I pray you ne'er give heed.
Unto a ranting critic close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the SPIDER WHO IS WEI.

CDM