He was a regular old hobo, a scruffy down and out fellow
Long rough years had soften his edges and turned him mellow
He kept to himself, from town to town he traveled by train
In all kinds of weather the cool wind refreshed his brain
Sometimes on his trips he came across fellow vagabonds
They exchanged many pleasantries and built friendly bonds
On one such occasion he found himself in a vacant compartment
It was very late so he looked forward to the trip with enjoyment
Suddenly in the dark he felt something crawling on his forehead
On his hand he saw a large tarantula which to him did not look dead
The single match he lit went out as quickly as his fear exploded
He screamed and stumbled against the walls in which he collided
Terror with the force of a dam burst through his mind like a tsunami
In fear his bloody fingers scratched at the door as he begged for mercy
In the darkness tears streamed from his unseeing eyes like a small child
In a moment of wild hysteria there was nowhere for him to run or hide
