His life was short and busy
At the base of ever moving feet
And the height of the plant he called home
His days were marked by caution
With nights reserved for survival
And preparation for the day ahead
Yet his death came unexpected
Caught between man’s inherent fears
And the futility of his existence
His eight legs now lay crumpled
A single strand of his lonely web
Attached to a crimson red rose
Soon to float off…on its rendezvous
With Infinity
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