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Apr 1
The spiders glide in night by night,
Following a trail, light by light.

On top of the webs stand the spiders,
Ready to attack all threats with lighters.

A schism of venom to fill the cracks
Of the pieces that have always fit
And a wall is lifted upon their backs;
A webbed foundation of grit.
I know it means a metalworks, but foundry also sounds like a place where foundations are made.
Adrian
Written by
Adrian  16/M/Wherever I May Roam.
(16/M/Wherever I May Roam.)   
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