This Lonely Spider


Alone, waiting, hurting.
This spider on his web.
White frost,
clinging to silver strands,
this trap is clean,
clean as a sharp blade.
The hunger set in days ago.
There isn’t much time left, for
this lonely spider.

Fluttering, bobbing, gracefully,
the butterfly drifts down.
But the spider doesn’t want to,
to kill the butterfly.
Not this one.
It is too prescious.
He can’t harm something,
that carries his own heart.
even if he will die.

Closer, Closer, Closer!
she flies towards his web.
he must stop her,
but his hunger gets the better,
and he waits.
Too late, she is tangles.
and he begins weaving his threads,
around her, and he poisons her.
he couldn’t help himself.

He uses every part of her,
and spins a new web.
and again he waits,
alone, waiting, hurting,
this spider.