Friday, August 26, 2011


Early morning summer sun
Finds silver threads of web
Left behind on windows
By wishful spiders descending
All departed, all long gone
Straight line streaks of light
Play along thin threads of web
Up and down, up and down
When I move my head
Back and forth, back and forth
And the sun burns on
Heating up the day
While spiders ready themselves
For the fall and a winter
They have never experienced
But have always known

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