Poem of the Week |3| Spiders and Bees

Spiders and Bees

The terror held in beating wings
Sounded an end upon my sill.
Freshly snared in spiders silk,
Somethings must die for somethings to live.

But with the brush of my finger
And a gentle slow redress,
I could free this humble creature,
Save mine and its distress.

And so continue on to visit
Ripened flower after flower,
Better to be freed to roam
Than stay and be devoured.


As spiderlings poured from woven homes,
Its buzzing horror became muffled drones.
No longer a pawn, knight, rook or king,
But a puppet drawn on silken string.

And I could not save it, set free its wings,
Disentangle the body and suffer the sting.
For I’m no more a God to the sun, stars or seas,
Than a God to the worlds of spiders and bees.



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