The spider, her small form above
the bed where I lay to sleep
Her thin legs carry her
in circles, in zigzags
with fine silk behind her
She weaves and she moves
silent, intently
she spins and she weaves
she spins and she weaves
the stuff of my dreams

The delicate thread
of this great tapestry
is silken, invisible,
hers
She works through the night
her job so simple, so great
for a creature so small
She is unnoticed, tiny,
silent, but not sullen
she watches over as I sleep,
and she weaves

She spins and she weaves
the stuff of my dreams