Spiders are poets, in a different worldSpinning hope and tragedy, as their webs are hurledLaboring carefully, for each link a proper placeWhere it does its part, to lure each new facePatiently hunting, for just the right phraseThe poet seeks to set, inquiring minds ablazeSparkling like a mesh, of gilded diamond threadsMeant to be a lasting place, these wind quivered bedsDrawing out designs, to entice and allureThough you may not agree, the purpose is all pureFor one must be the victor, in every combat standWords on white paper, draw like a spider’s bandThe trembling and twitching, announce one has comeWith joy of authorship, feeling taught strings strumJust as a poet listening, to the praises they have soughtThey head off to enjoy, the rewards their work has broughtAnd poets are such spiders, weaving thoughts with wordsSometimes with stanzas, sometimes with metered thirdsEach one created especially, for this life they liveBy one Holy Creator, with many good gifts to give
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