In the pale wake of morning,
I sat by the tide
To find a small spider,
Who sat by my side.
He sat and he spindled,
Creating no harm.
Just his morning routine:
Weaving his arms.
He paid me no heed
As he solidly worked
To catch fly upon fly,
Who will jerk and will jerk.
His house, never ending,
Will always expand
Until it becomes
A mountainous clan.
And as he grows old
To his children he’ll give
A tale of the girl
Who just let him live.
About the Creator
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