Beside my bed at break of day

A tiny spider, sleeping lay.

Swiftly my hand set out to kill

Faltered then remained still.


From secret dreams would she wake,

And contemplate how to undertake

An artful work of silken thread

- and death - does she also dread?


I picked her up and set her free

Between birch and willow tree:

"Neatly weave your web now

Here from bough to bough.


Let the morning it bedew

As a mirror for skies so blue.

Until the beams of the moon

Play on it their silvery tune.


When my heart sets out to brood,

I shall transcend my changing mood

With the treasures from your hoard

And bless you for my rich reward."