Dew-covered spiderweb glistening during dusk,
faint rays of sunlight escaping through intricate threads,
sparkling drops, liquid beauty, attract the curious like of friendly-flies,
all too eager, peering with fascination upon you,
listening in silence to a whispering traveling from shadows,
voice soft as a moth's wing, drifting through popped ears;
Only butterflies can hear the music of it all.

Some back away, cries of terror, misunderstanding,
others pluck at strings, strike matches, let stray thorns loose,
tearing down pattern by pattern,
oblivious to solitary facts, the true nature of arachnids;
If your web gets torn, you build again.

Such powerful strength from will alone,
continuing to do what others refuse to or cannot,
stitching wounds one by one with nimble limbs,
every move a graceful dance, every gesture a serenade,
it is no wonder they cannot help but fall into lovely illusions,
perhaps they untidy them, disorganize pictures;
Though you cannot blame spiders for building,
only the foolishness of flies who get stuck,
walking into the parlor.