Web

Threads of gold
The spider span
Through the glow
Of the dying sun

And among the dusty
Shafts of ochre light
A fly, with wings as bright
As gems, meandered to its doom.

The gossamer beauty that
Reached out from the heart,
Afloat in the afternoon

Sparkled on impact;
Then quietly shook,
As death caressed
The struggle for life,

And the day's hard work
Was done.