The opulence of spider's webs.
Succumbed to the seduction of frost 
following a winter's kiss.
The deliberate movements of creatures we **** with large books
And capture in glass and rolled up paper. 
So ignored and 
unwanted and 
unwilling 
to become silently encrusted
and suddenly abundant
Yet still treasured and precious and rare. 
Only because of the winter we often find
so cold and 
so dark and 

so 

infinite. 



Without the chilled infinity
And our own winters
And our own darkness
We would **** our own creatures
with large books
And capture them in glass and rolled up paper.

We would not appreciate or 
speculate or 
come to love the things we loathed 
or notice the opulence 
of 
spider's 
webs.