A web spun from instinct 
Decades of practise with nothing to show 
But existence maintained 
A blood line upheld  

What has it taken to survive 
Other than the courage 
To sit and wait 
As the hours fade 

Waiting and waiting 
For innocence to stumble 
Into your web of lost time
Into your clutches of death 

…

And it’s broken 
That misty white thread
Meets its own demise 
In the hands of a wading gardener 

I did not recognise your strife 
My innocence took your home 
Now you rebuild 
As you always have

May I sit with you 
Get caught in your web of patience 
Fall into your clutches 
Ready for our next meal