Her hunched mound circles around
while near dawning approaches...
and my mind wonders of her need
to spin more rows in puffs
of hours, sewing and binding
a delicate blanket made from loops.
Somehow, I know what makes
her hurry... as time wheezes,
silken mother props her bed
upon new day's request
when egg sacs, her young, peep out
toward a gently crocheted, wet...
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