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."