I see your ambush
disclosed by the heavy dew.
That suspended orb of silk
which trembles at the slightest touch,
is strung with pearls of morning
as offerings to you.
Why did you not accept this gift?
Why do you hesitate?
You did not rush along the thread
alerted by such pendant weight
but let their beauty sway undispersed,
gently, in the humid air.
lurking in your lair,
your sensitivity it seems,
discerns only the lonely struggles
of your prey
ensnared by your secret spinner’s skill;
your aesthetic senses woven
into your artistic, geometric trap
are pitilessly enwrapped
in the warp and weft of death
within your neatly-parcelled kill … .