The Spider

All morning I have watched
The spider spin her silks
Without aid or sympathy,
Just the promise that says
This has to be.

Then at noon when she chances
Into day she shunts
Into a silence more deadly
Than any noise heard before;
And we have lost our mercies
In listening.

And when the sun dampens and evening turns
I touch her web that falls to ground,
A sense now of something wrong,
Lady spider without circumstance

Fastened to a suicidal body
Asking for recompense
From anyone who might hear
And applaud given
The act of pain I exacted
With a finger's touch,
Wavering but certain,

A long falling down into moonlight.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on this poem, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.