Spider Songs

Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra Muted and receding into the trees and bushes, Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind While we may be in the company of wolves, A long legged friend is late for the party Eyes, little iridescent stars Attending to each one, and look there, There she is, making the most beautiful geometry Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron? A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice A real lady always knows when to say goodnight Such graceful exits through cement cracks Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark And they become spiders again