Spider

I am small. I am blind. I am weak. I am high Upon this unsteady branch, Waving, blowing wind beset, I let out the finest strand And find another on which to rest. I am cold. I am frail. I am bold, And I sail In gust of wind I set forth a seam Another end Another thread, silvered gleam. Oh, that I were wise. Were I mighty, Fast, great, sublime, I would rightly Take up place upon this world. I would weave a bridge, a tower Or the veil of finest silks unfurled, But were I more than I am offered. But I spin. I bind, I loose, I tie Upon the waving branches, Trunks and limbs within their leaves, Or on the roofs and walks of man From their windows and their eaves: I spin, I tie, I wait, I see. I see by the slightest hint That one has tread upon my home And this ephemeral web, moon glint, Shows wherefore this masterpiece is owned This net, This snare, Beget By effort fair Behold! I am hunter, slayer, Death is my bite! Frail in form but cunning, cruel Those who before stood stop in their might Now now within my ethereal tomb! I weave! I bind! I reave! I tie! Behold, what patience brought low! Behold, my toiled gains! Look, see what my angsted toils show! For the Spider is my name.

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Archaesus

29 / M

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