The Heard Tale Retold-Ii

This tale is a human tale, Now hear the animal wail, That was a painter of low sorts, Fewer fines and more of odd lots, Diminutive and strong, With a shaggy moustache and beard, He formed a part of similar looking painters’ team, They went around office apartments, Giving them shine and gleam, With their broad brushed paint, Which was often lime and often plastic coated sheen, This painter I saw working on my apartment, He was on my room and its door, There was this strange bigger mosquito cum spider, That frolicked on the door from one shore to shore, Oblivious of the painter and danger, This shiny and well shaped creature stood his ground, The painter was on the other ground, Wetting it in viscid shine, Our mosquito skipped, frolicked every now and then, Probably sensing the paint smell for the first time, He was unaware that a buried-alive death was near, It came soon, The painter lifted his brush in a stroke, The excess paint sprinkled in rain, And one viscid drop, Fell flat on the poor creature, And fell in a manner that was strange, Only his two long legs were pinned, Paint dried soon thereupon, Leaving the creature pinned in a stranglehold, I saw the creature flagellate to free, His eyes were too tiny to see his ears, So was his face that must have been all agony, He remained pinned and alive, For how many days and months, I know not, It was only when I saw accidentally his blotted carcass one day, That I envisioned poor creatures struggle to death, He must have suffered no end, Till hunger pushed him to end, He remains plucked as he was last dead, To my door, As if sleeping peacefully in a comfy bed.