He started from an aquilegia flower.
But how he got there, I will never know.
A good half metre from the ground, he was,
Wrapped round the petals,
Swaying to and fro.
Gradually he turned, until his head
Was gazing longingly down to the place
Where polyanthus spread their tempting leaves.
His stalky eyes
Gawped from his slimy face.
Slowly, but surely he revolved,
Until his body hung there in a glob,
Secured by some secretion he produced
From out his tail,
Spun like a spinning bob.
Down, down he wound away,
Bending the plant into an arching pole.
The viscous thread spread exponentially,
And, ever thinner,
Lowered him to his goal.
At last he felt the telltale touch of life.
Spreading his form lugubriously on the leaf.
The bungee snapped, and with surprising speed,
He slid away, leaving me standing there
In almost disbelief.
©Ruth Twyman Lockyer June 2014