Catcher Of The Fly

Catcher Of The Fly

Silk-spun, deadly strands of death

Sparkle in the morning sun.

Webs of wonder memory woven.

Octuplet legs tread deftly

On safe non-stick strands

Alternate threads of no return

Invisible to the innocent

Fly by flies blind to doom;

The reaper lies motionless

In its parlour of fatal gloom.

A rapid dance embalms the catch

Back to the parlour

And wait for more flies to hatch.