Poor Spider

She looks like death Eatin on a crippled spider With a voice like a banshee And the face of a fighter She stands in the garden To keep the crows scared away When she walks 'cross the floor The house starts to sway Medusa was a goddess With snakes in her hair But she's no goddess I promise - I swear You would have sympathy If ever you saw The woman I speak of My dear Mother-in-Law