Threads (a lullaby)

Photo by Nicolas Picard on Unsplash

Caught in the web of the spider

victims tied up in the weaving.

Strung by the heads of their bodies,

it waits for the night to unfold.

Even the threads of the spider

go thin in the light of the day.

Slicing the strings of the plotter,

the lurker slips under its hold.

Bite to the head killed the spider.

Teeth from behind went in, sinking.

If prey were all it was after,

then it did remember the fold.

They all will remember the fold.

We all will remember the fold.