An entomologist, out of love
Made his only son a grub
He sent him spiderward from above
Down to live beneath a shrub.

And there invertebrate grew the boy
Son of spiders, born and bred
To fine arachnehood, full of joy
An octopoidal life he led.

He spoke in parable, taught a creed
Led his kin toward the light
Until the monarchy, full of greed
Stomped the boy in fear and spite.

But still his followers spread the word
What he did was not in vain
The entomologist (how absurd!)
Lets his mighty love remain.