works a tiny spider, toiling away
her craft, hidden from view.
The gossamer threads she spins
patiently throughout the night
strung together with vague
, long-lost in the
of the sun. With a feverish excitement
creates a web of dreams
into the night to fabricate
beautiful, intricate home
which she can live forever.
As the russet-clad morn tramples through
forest of sleep, the bright sun
away the trembling
web of dreams.
* * * *
