I spin my web, complex and intricate,
Hoping to capture beauty by design
And snare a lucid truth wrapped in a line
For others to admire and contemplate.
But having spun this far, I hesitate
Though life is short and I begrudge the time
To check the meaning hidden in my rhyme.
I am uneasy. Crouching here, I wait.
What if, instead of moth or butterfly,
Fragile insects, pretty, small and weak,
Some unwanted truth has come my way,
A looming feathered thing that happens by,
Spots my web, swerves with open beak?
Have I been trapped? Could I become the prey?
