Messages from My Soul

The Weaving Spider

THE WEAVING SPIDER

'Neath the branches' shade the spider laid

Out a weave of glassy thread

And hung there sans a care

In the world, and as if suspended in the air

She waltzed--a dancer sans compare;

In my little hand it I decided to take

But immediately I dismissed that childish mistake

For, aye! 'Tis better that it stayed

Free in the tree than to have it ache

For the home, from which she's been taken away.

After all, what beauty is found amongst the pained?

What glorious cloth is woven by the strained?

Tore I my gaze from the cobweb on the trees

And smiling, stood to leave.

And, at peace, the spider with her loving ease

Continued there to weave.