The Spider.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

Don't kill the spider, little Fred,
But come and stand by me,
And watch him spin that slender thread,
Which we can hardly see.

How patiently, now up, now down,
He brings that tiny line!
He never stops, but works right on,
And weaves his web so fine.

You could not make a thread so small,
If you should try all day;
So never hurt him, dear, at all,
But spare him in your play.

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