Spinneret Song


A silken, diaphanous, triangular cloud

Floats against door frame and wall.

Delicately pitched taffeta tent,

Shimmering chiffony chimera,

An exquisite and ethereal mirage.

Your fragile presence stilling breath,

Hushing mind and  swelling heart

With unfathomable wonderment and awe.

I hold my breath and gaze and marvel

At such architectural finesse and finery.

Thoughts shredded and reshuffled,

Musing tenuously and ponderously,

This wispy Will-o’-the-Wisp apparition.

From whence did you come…

O secret gift of nightly spectre?

O Master Weaver and Master Spinner,

In which crevice or crack are you buried?

Talent like  yours is deserving of the highest accolade!

Your playing of the Spinneret, legendary!

Public applause and an encore!

But please, please, please…

Do not take your bow until I am gone!



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