My neighbour is a spider
Her name is Edith Jones
I've always stood beside her
No matter how she moans
I'd knitted little sockies
To keep her leggies warm
But she'd said she wore frockies
And tights would be the norm
And so, four pairs I knitted
Of tiny little tights
And Edith Jones was kitted
For ice cold winter nights
Alas, ill fortune claimed her
She had a fatal blip
A massive fall had maimed her
When Edith lost her grip
It seems her tights prevented
Her clinging to the web
And when her grip relented
She fell and split her head
The judge was very willing
As Woodlouse to the crown
To find 'Unlawful killing'
And through a worried frown
He made a brief citation
"When Edith plunged from heights
By just interpretation
It must have been the tights"
And so I'm now in jail
And never see my wife
With time to write this tale
'A Beetle serving life'