the spider built a lovely web,
from this wall to that wall and
from this corner to that edge
laying silken thread, then
crossing them with more threads,
until at last a fine masterpiece was woven.
then the master craftsman
took in the view and felt good
the time to relax
and sit back had finally come
so he slid himself between the threads
and drifted in to a deep slumber
wind is like death
it keeps no calendar;
a depression there in the far off lands
in some bay or over an ocean
brings a disturbance
and destroys homes
spiders have nothing to fear
they have no business with the ocean,
its rising tides or ebbing waves
but then spiders are funny creatures
building webs
and getting enmeshed between the lines
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