Thursday 31 March 2011

Weaving Webs

I weave my web
before my silver string ebbs,
fearing that one day it will snap.
I catch my flies
and basque in their dark demise,
watching them fall into my trap.
I feed on juice
not letting any run loose
til content with the feed I've had.
I then must rest
in woven webs that I'd dressed
and promise never to be sad.

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