I’ve lost count . . .
no, I never cared to count
I never do
I don’t know how many . . .
Perfect fantasies I’ve created
now forgotten
A dozen alabaster jars I’ve painted
the roses faded
A hundred jeweled webs I’ve spun
the prism raindrops dried away
leaving dusty silken remnants
All vague reminder of the hopes
The joys I’d wished I had
All dashed
And I feel kind of like a spider that’s never left her corner