The guard at the entrance said, "You'll have to double your limbs before you can enter here." I sat for awhile until it occured to me to go out and find my epipsyche.
Years later, I returned to Spiderland, and the gatekeeper said, "Well, you spin beautiful yarns, though yours are made from words, and with your soul mate, you have the requisite number of appendages, so enter and stay as long as you please."
My love and I didn't know what to expect, but it was a whole world made of crystal webs dewed with human tears (As they evaporate, they reappear in the world of the octopeds). We stood beneath the carefully croqueted and knitted white scarves of the spider grannies with open mouths to taste the honey-sweet happy tears, and with our hands, we spun word webs that made the eight-limbed citizens cheer. The applause only made more eye water fall onto our waiting lips, and our hands worked overtime making word sweaters and word afghans for the shivering spiders.