The dining room table
A web on the wall
Where many a fly
Has encountered their fall
A supper for spiders
As fangs come to feast
No hope for the trapped
In the den of the beast
The end of the road
Is where silken threads dangle
The immaculate spider
Will not let them tangle
The egg sacs are lain
And there’s more yet to come
To feed on the flies
And to let the blood run
A Life in Poems 