I step into her parlor,
Decorated with silken tapestries—
Oh such beautiful weaving!
Perhaps her home is weak,
Breaking upon blows
But can’t it be rebuilt swiftly,
And in a sense,
It is stronger than steel.
She perches delicately in her threads,
Eight legs en pointe.
Maybe I am cloaked of this silk too,
Residing in dew-dropped elegance,
Maybe I, in some spiritual sense,
Have eight legs hanging onto the wall.