1 June 2012
People don't like spiders,
They run away afraid
Or grab a hefty book
And send them to their graves.
We think they're brutal,
Creepy, shifty, weird,
I'm pretty sure the old guy down the road
Keeps one in his beard.
But little do we know,
As they wave their webs goodbye,
The last thing that they spend life on
Before they are to die.
The spider makes a little sac,
Bestows her little pearls
Upon it so it keeps them safe
Her little boys and girls,
And with her last energy
She takes it to a spot
Where the sac will come to no harm,
Where it's not too cold or hot,
And as she breathes her final breath
She sees them in her sights ,
The children she will never know
As she slips to eternal night.
It's really rather shameful
How is humans do whitewash
This act of adoration,
We forget the sorrowful loss.
We forget about the beauty
Of the ceremony in that cove,
How the spider gives her dying embers
In her final labour of love.
Perhaps if we were more like her
Our world would be more sane,
There'd be less hurt, less pain, less loss
If we only did the same.
Incy Wincy Love • Opuss № I