On eight slender legs
She glides across the flat surface
Onto the plane of her creation
With a delicate touch and artist’s eyes,
She constructs the pattern of perfection,
Both in beauty and functionality
When the morning dew collects on the eves of her home,
The world is captured in the frail beads of light,
Suspended from the thin strings of fate
And there she sits
And there she waits
In quiet meditation for the moment when
She may offer her contribution to Nature
Look! Her long-awaited company has arrived
Now bound indefinitely in the iron cords of her art,
Ensnared by her ardent welcome
What a change in her demeanor has transpired—
Or perhaps it is a revelation of her true character
Her sleek, black frame traverses the narrow ropes
With regal elegance, fluid grace, and deadly intention
When the deed is done, she sweeps the floor and tidies the shelves;
An innocent maiden, kind innkeeper, and simple housemaid
She returns to her chamber and waits for the next guest