The Beauty of Spiders

The curiosity, in eight silent eyes.

The twitching, in furry mandibles.

The readiness, in spring powered legs.

To pounce, like a beast,

though rarely with intent of evil.

These friends to which we are mountains,

are the hardest to accept.

a natural war, a fear, a hatred,

as if their life weighs less than ours.

To see them in disgust.

Even those who cannot harm.

To see their beauty as grotesque

is only natural.

But it removes from us the wonder

which we see in the butterflies.

The webs, the finest silk,

the dew which they capture,

the ornaments which sparkle each morning.

The beauty of these monsters

is long lost.

To us.