The spider hung upside down
With legs so fine they looked
Like strands of his web.
A wounded fly
Fell in, struggling
Weakly as the spider by
Then quite close wrapped him
Tightly and as soon cocooned
Set him aside. I raised
My eyes and looked away.
Whatever would happen
Next required the spider’s
Patience more than mine,
Looking about at the rest
Not web connected,
Waiting none the less
For what would happen soon,
I picked up my broom, swept
Up blown-in leaves, tracked-
In sand and debris, ready
For whatever comes for me.
Saturday, March 23, 2019
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