It was a misty morning on Saturday, and as we sat in the kitchen eating breakfast, we looked out and saw the sun sparkling on dozens of spiders’ webs on the bushes in the garden. Bob grabbed my camera and ran outside to record them. They were so beautiful!
Silk-thin silver strings woven cleverly into a lair,
An intricate entwining of divinest thread...
Like strands of magic worked upon the air,
The spider spins his enchanted web -
His home so eerily, spiralling spreads.
His gossamer so rigid, yet lighter than mist,
And like an eight-legged sorcerer - a wizard blest,
His lace, like a spell, he conjures and knits;
I witnessed such wild ingenuity wrought and finessed,
Watching the spider weave a dream from his web.
I found this poem by Jonathan Platt on the internet [in lots of places] but cannot discover anything about the poet. Such a tiny creature, weaving such an amazing piece of engineering.