The spider in her web, 
Waiting the night, 
Expecting love to come,
And slake her thirst.

She lies wrapped in
Chambers of silk,
And she lays her hand 
Upon the windowsill,
Looking for her lover.

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Curious,
what is real? is it love?
We know for we see,
and sense,
and existence hands us ample space
to be, and learn,
and understand life,
that, without you and me,
would be pointless;
o' how important it is
to ponder intentions...
In love we're assembled;
in comfort,
and kind shelter.

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