Gossamer Lodgings

A silhouette, a work of art as the gloaming came her way

There was no breeze just tangerine at closing of the day.

And as the sunset spilled her paints where mountain ranges lay

There began the spider's toil. She was dressed in ashen grey.



So from the eaves she hovered there, her bearings would be first

Compelled to lay foundations with each silken thread in verse

And with a thrust she tossed herself onto a summer flower's burst

Of petals where she moored her silk and for a moment there she perched.



With strength that is unknown to man, she climbed that silken floss

Back to the eaves and there a ways she sent that thread across

Then harnessed to it's anchor was her silk and lace on moss

She drifted down beneath a leaf; for a moment she was lost.



Substructure laid on every branch, each grapnel seemed concrete

For not a thread, nor joist or eave she needed to re-seat

Then on a sphere she circled once then ninety more repeats

Until her web, a masterpiece was perfected and complete.



A new day dawned and came the dew like prismatic pearls it graced

Each tiny thread, each filament and on every single space

There lay a jewel imbued with rainbows that Mother Nature placed

And on a gossamer web, a spider, those crushed opals had encased.