Spider weaves a web,
thoughtless is as trust --
an element in the space,
dodging particles of dust.
Alongside a windowpane,
it encounters the cool --
springing on the field of glass
are haystacks made of dew.
Now the spider is the thresher,
linked one to one by light --
as the man, the spider moves,
toiling till out of sight.
-------
Petaluma
at the Washoe House
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