Spider, spider, creeping low,
In the shadows, to and fro.
Silken threads, a web so fine,
Cunning weaver, dark design.

What silent dance, what artful grace,
In the corners, finds its place?
Spinneret's craft, with patience spun,
In moonlit gleam, the trap is done.

Spider, spider, eyes agleam,
Master of a web, unseen.
Eight-legged artist of the night,
Weaving dreams in soft moonlight.

In the forest of the night,
What tangled webs take silent flight?
Intricate patterns, silk's embrace,
Spider, spinner of time and space.