An Orb Spider has woven her web
In the middle of the Window pane
Directly to East where the Sun rises
The intricasy of each spun thread
Geometrically perfect , glistening in rain
Tuants me to wonder,if such work,creates pain.?

I've watched her little mandibles
Testing each string ,working overtime
Tying off the knots ,working math tables
As she crosses each fine line
And although she is a Spider, she appears
To be a poet,weaving .......a Spider's Rhym.


Capturing early sunrise ,it is fine gold spun
Fading to brilliant Silver,when the Moon is
On the Run,caught in brisk breeze ,it waves
Like a chiffon scarf,and with an insect in the
webbing, it becomes , a death mask.

I cannot brush it away ,after the work
she has done,when one thinks of building houses ,today can be a trap,...,it is not much fun.
The beauty of her magic web has a certain
worth,
I guess the same as your and I
She is 'caretaking of Her Earth.

Hi Gypsophillia,
(Even your pet name is a delight to behold)
Lovely words and so good that you can capture the beauty of God's creation and bring it to other people to share. Every day we can look and see thousands of things to be thankful for (even amongst the terrible hurts)
Keep up with your gift of words and keep spreading them around.

from MaryLouise