And so she weaves in perfect line
Silken spittle tracing out a net
So delicate and yet in this perfection
Here lies death

And so she labours on and on
Wavering a second here and there
To make some small repair
As countless years have led her to

And so she will, continuing
Her life's endeavours beauty bound to
death that she might take her breath
'Til nature takes the nets away

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