The creature is cultured beauty
Walking on unhurried mission.
It has to spit longest fine thread
To spin gossamer silk of dreams.
After when there are rain pearls
By sun quick to weeping leaves,
A spit turns web to catch world
So the world is caught helplessly.
Now where is walking brown pill
And where are its long fine legs
Mixed up in heaps of dry leaves
Sticks and twigs on garden floor?
The thing is lost in bird stomach
Before very dream is completed.