The sun crept low as she crossed the park,
      in an anxious footrace with the dark;
When a lonely moonbeam appeared ahead—
      to illuminate a demon dread!
A cold, dead chill skipped down her spine,
      her scream choked to a piteous whine;
If only she could turn and run—
      if only she had brought a gun!
Then she would show this monster foul,
      confronting her with gaping jowl;
But she was doomed, her fate was sealed—
      such power did that monster wield!

If the path had been just two feet wider . . .
      she'd have escaped that half-inch spider.