Spider webs come dilly-dally,
Spread themselves from limb to limb,
Climbing tree, fording valley,
Forming traps so neat and trim.
Flimsy looking lace,
Filmed in its own lure,
Naked in the breadth of face,
To all but light obscure.
Rain, or dew, in rivulets,
Racing sinewy length,
Pour together in droplets,
Cling to self for strength.
Then slowly, oh so slowly, as gravity pulls its way,
They start to slide from the sticky strand
In cohesion find their sway,
With weightless being edge their fall,
And plunge away, away.
Vibrant strands of spindly steel,
Vibrating with release,
Capture fast the ladies meal,
Riding on the breeze.
Trapped beyond its sense to free,
Tranced in sticky silence,
Struggling hard, it cannot see,
Wrapped within its island.
Skittering along the strands,
Scattering more drops,
Feeling movement through her land,
Comes the Lady to claim her lot.
Greedily spinning her prey,
Grooming it for later need,
She leaves and picks her way
To yesterdays catch to feed.
Beautiful silky nets,
Being the way they are,
Catch many who regret,
The lure of a brighter star.
****
© Copyright January 2015 – Robin McShane
All rights reserved as per this blogs copyright statement
The Wayward Warrior 