The Old Spider Web

The old spider web weathered many storms, Now dusty and twining around, Like a faded white rope hung with a noose Casting shadows upon the ground. It sways in the cool breeze under the sun; The old empty home without a sound Cries out in destruction for its maker and dweller, But the spider cannot be found. As it clings to an edge by one thin thread, Twirling up and down and round, It's about to give way like an old rickety porch, More contorted, knotted and wound; It still sways its noose as winds draw a breath To bring this old web to the ground, For too much decay has now swallowed it up, And to its destiny it is bound. Though it lingers in hope ere the day it will drop, It will fall and be another mound, Never rolled up again or stretched out in a garden With its spider to be flower-crowned.