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In the calm still moonlit night       she silently wove a silken tapestry -           spinnerets spewing slender strands       light as air but strong as Kevlar. A silvery armature spanned the trail     clinging to trunks and branches.           Rappelling down from its pinnacle,       she fixed radii to her deadly wheel. Spiraling in from the outer ring       she knitted her way to the center           to await the tell-tale shudder     of a fly or moth flown into her snare. She took no note of the hiker       paused alone on the trail -           transfixed by the dew laden spiral     shimmering in the rose-glow sun. It mattered not to the spider       that a man would find her work pleasing           and it mattered not to the man     that the web was not woven for art.
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Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
The Master Weaver
In the calm still moonlit night       she silently wove a silken tapestry -           spinnerets spewing slender strands       light as air but strong as Kevlar. A silvery armature spanned the trail     clinging to trunks and branches.           Rappelling down from its pinnacle,       she fixed radii to her deadly wheel. Spiraling in from the outer ring       she knitted her way to the center           to await the tell-tale shudder     of a fly or moth flown into her snare. She took no note of the hiker       paused alone on the trail -           transfixed by the dew laden spiral     shimmering in the rose-glow sun. It mattered not to the spider       that a man would find her work pleasing           and it mattered not to the man     that the web was not woven for art.
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
robert-c-howard
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Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
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