Through the summer night and day
spider spins her life away
weaving gossamer entrapments
for her unsuspecting prey.
Threads from clothes upon the line
between my beans upon the vine
and when I go through my front door
I break more threads ticklish and fine.
Until one misty day in fall
from tiny shrubs to cedars tall
each lacy trap in white is sketched.
The fog has come, exposing all!
© 2015 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)
I wrote this poem quite a few years ago, when I still had a garden. But it’s as true as ever. Each year at about this time, I’ll go out one misty morning to see spider webs everywhere. Busted!
This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by poetry farmer extraordinaire, Amy LV at The Poem Farm.