DylanI saw the spider,
weaving wonderful in the morning sun,
silken strings of pearldrop dew,
like a vicious glistening jewellery.
“Always let nature be”
my uncle later said,
drawing conclusions
from the wells of my young eyes,
filling with pity for an entangled fly,
its struggled buzzes
clipped in confusion
like a faulty hedge trimmer
between the yard brush
and the door of the shed.