The spider is an illusionist, tricking the world with delicate silk But they don't make my heart race fast Eight delicate legs, they glide past Making webs as silver as the moon Each thread a secret, spun in tune A little creep, but no fear here Spinning in tune every year The web sags slightly under the morning dews weight The webs shimmer, a quiet fate
As graceful as a rivers current, flowing through the grass The silent slither, seen as sinister, but I let it past Where they see danger, I see grace A misunderstood creature, no threat to embrace The snake sheds, in hope to forget the past knowing what he did would last Each scale a tear drop of their sad fate As it moves forward, shedding the weight In silence it slithers, a story to narrate
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