Gossamer-silk strands wove into artwork, 
Hung on bramble, glistening with morning dew, 
Frail as a whisper, destroyed by one rainfall 
And the artist must start his creation anew.

But don't be fooled by its delicacy! 
The web holds a license to kill 
Its grip of death with embrace you 
And its Monster, concealed, lurks in shadows, so still. 

So when dancing, nonchalant, through the air, 
Beware! That dance may be your last, 
For if you foolishly stumble into His trap, 
The Monster tonight breaks his fast. 

You'll be caressed by the satin jaws of oblivion, 
Feel horror at the power such lacy beauty can yield, 
Then there's the panic-struck struggle as the Monster scuttles over, 
And with a paralysing kiss, your Fate is sealed.