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.