Monster

Up high,
In the corner of my bedroom,
An eight-legged monster is waiting
There it is, building a trap for its prey
The archaic arachnid is plotting

I am standing,
Holding my breath
What will this tiny beast do?
When in a matter of seconds,
It has caught a timid dinner,
A gentle butterfly
Orange and yellow wings
Entangled in the spider’s trap
And I know for a fact,
The archaic arachnid is plotting