Afar from the light of civilisation, has long been waiting,

The spider with its loved net,

And the eyes’ floating dream to get,

That most wanted thing.  


Proud the spider is,

With a home in the air,

A phenomenon entirely unique and rare,

Amongst the other species.


The Omniscient does every so often,

Bless it with the horn of plenty,

Some other days do go tiresome and empty,

Chiefly with the rain’s burying its disposition.


The spider is part of the intricate chain as we all are,

Neither can it think nor has the aptitude to chatter,

Hanging, waiting and killing are,

Its tasks; time does not subsist for it whatsoever!


As convoluted as the human correlation,

The magical net is,

Providing the favoured groceries,

And naively carrying out a laudable obligation.   

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