The spiders are weaving their webs
in the hide shutter window opened wide
Where the wind flows and ebbs
Like the haunted house of the jilted bride
The shield bug crawls on the side board
It thinks about hopping off overboard
Then crawls to my elbow, all is a rainbow
As varnish reflects the sun's glow
And the lake is a shield of glass
Reflecting the clouds as they pass
The greys and the blues of all different hues
These are the colours of time's mass
The shield bug has reached my wrist
he's climbed up my sleeve like a cliff
Will he reach my shoulder by the time I'm older
I really don't mind I'd give him a lift
The morning spiders are fishermen
Casting their nets in the wind
The flies are their fishes then
They'll catch them if visitors don't come in
I've come to see the fine lily
They're lying down in the valley
Like a Monet painting, but with no one curating
Unless the creator of all things
If my life is a carpet of lilies that I tread upon
It really is quite silly, to walk upon a duck pond
Now it could be a Marsh Harrier has come
She circles above everyone
The glassy lake reflects her flight
And I hope one day that I might
Feel so graceful and strong
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