The eight-legged fiend clamored haltingly down,
A web-covered tree, nest of darkness untold.
The wobbly arachnid skated over dusty ornaments,
Reminders of happier memories lost with age.
Nothing was left but distant shadows of joy,
Turned into pain by slippery neglect.
The spider crept over a skeletal doll,
Forlorn under dry pine with a thousand yard stare.
A hollow box before the tiny beast stood,
Echoing the absent gift of holiday cheer.
The spindly monster paused, seeming to consider
The loneliness of a season formerly rapture,
Transformed to black ashes and soot.