In a nightgown of mist the garden sleeps
While Dawn yawns quietly and cold birds creep
Revealed now are the webs and well-spun plans
Of spiders profiting where they can
Silken traps woven out of view
Now hang heavy with the dew
A world held ransom by their threads
As we lay sleeping in our beds
The alarm clock rings, a blackbird's call
And soon the mist will fret and fall
Day will chase these thoughts away
But spiders sit and spin and prey
