The spider, bending forward
In its subtle clutches of doom
Slithering, chirping and murmuring
As it slides through its closely knit
Palace of no return.
How weary does it look
With its hairy limbs and compound eyes
Lunging out and about
With no fear or any
Form of emotion.
Grasping its victim by the teeth
And spinning the yarn
As it was once taught to
Injecting with venom
And moving free.
With a sudden burst of energy
It spins its many webs
Like filters, for his home
And for protection
Of his many children.
No matter how threatened it gets
It never seems to quit
Or relax or soothe
In its path whatever it sees
Is his, and his to take.
(c) Mitul Magu
31 October, 2015
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