What lies in wait, ethereal, shimmers

That send chills up and down your spine

Masked by sunlight’s colorful prism

She blends with the tree, so divine

Moving about, in perfect symmetry

Each thread, woven with expertise

A spinneret, is all she requires

As she patiently waits, by the trees

To capture that which she can enjoy

Poor moth, his death is most certain

By the simple thread of a spider’s trap

On his life, she has closed the curtain

Poem and Photo ©2018 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved