Arachnophilia

I found a home
For you and me
Between two young
Sapling trees.

Across them I pulled
My heartstring taut.
A weave of our lives
I carefully wrought.

The gales, they shudder,
Yet still we cling
To our webbéd abode,
This precious thing.

But heavy it grows
And riddled with tears.
It gets hard to forgive,
Harder to repair.

Precariously we hang
From fragile threads.
And the young saplings,
Well, they are dead.

When they break
(which soon they will),
I doubt our web
Will be there still.

Bittersweet, we’ll leave
Our mutual hearth.
I’ll let you fall silently
Back to earth.