Little miss orb weaver was royal,
And living outside the box pastoral.
She prospered in fine funambulism,
And high thread perfectionism.
She spun her webs so morphetic,
Defenestrating a nettbrett panic,
Then ate her partner and metamour,
Tighty-white cavemen of cervelat ecoture.
Antivaxx disciples diddle
With violescent euphemisms
On the fiddle
Whilst viral bocconcini balls
Of Dracula sneezes,
Ghoulishness and panic
Echo their calls.