Little Weaver

Strands of silver,
Legs like arms,
The weaver did spin,
Some old yarns.

Creating a masterpiece,
As nature's Van Gough,
Which shines in the sunlight,
In ambers glow.

Body of gold,
You create your design,
Like stained glass windows,
in a shrine.

Fang like smile,
Came over your face,
Inspecting each little strand,
And every space.

As nature's winds,
Showcase the artist’s work,
Making an unexpected guest,
Come to Perch.

Causing your work,
To loosen its grip,
Making it wave,
tear and drip.

Fixing your design,
To entice more guests,
With desire and beauty,
in your quests.