The Spider

That terrible terrible twig,
for god’s sake stay, still.
But it just won’t.
What a lovely green bush
with flowers that smell antiquity
and nectar that beckons many.
It was exhausted by now
and sat beneath the big leaf.
What a terrible pretty twig
Just won’t allow it to weave its web;
And it sat beneath the leaf, lovely
and wondering.
How soon is it to look beyond
to another bush? Or it thought,
to web across and watch
in delight that twig;
The spider.