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Don Mulford

The Snare

The spider’s web hung, strand on strand,
All dew bedecked and glistening,
While close at hand, beneath a leaf,
The spider rested, listening.

He listened to the rustling leaves
And watched the brightening sky.
He waited til his shimmering web
Would snare a careless fly.

The silken threads he’d spun so well
Began to sway and tremble,
The signal his bejewelled net
Had trapped a tasty morsel.

The spider left his sheltering leaf,
His victim fought in vain!
The deadly beauty of the web
Had triumphed once again!

So now the hapless fly is dead;
Could he have struggled harder?
Could he somehow escape this fate,
In spider’s gruesome larder?