Where fore should I build another web?
It will just collapse come the wind’s next ebb
The small spider will sit in wait for the fly
While watching the bustle of insect life go by

The seasons will come, winter, summer, spring,
Going round in circles, over again it brings
The same hardships and toils of a trivial year
Collecting the debris and sediments for me to clear

Every snowflake is worth its weight in roses
The smell of sweet honey is worth the weight it poses
Treasure each thread of sticky silk fair
Laying them down for the elements bare

An ancient song the weathered wind may sing
But each time it blows something new it brings
The rain will collect and leave little pearls
Dusting the scene in little swirls

The intricate web is made at last
A timeless tapestry of generations past
Eternally the seasons will come
Known to all blessed to some