Oft when He sits and waits,
cocoons and webs play their field
I love the spring
Those lovely spider webs,
in the morning all dewed and glinting in the Sun,
Those early rays striking the gossamer strings

          after a lonely winter a famine
comes the thaw and
such an abundance of feasting,
starving hordes cannot compare

That Hunger
feeding on itself,
raw strips, flesh torn
prey ensnared
and then roiled,

Is that His wont?
Who is the Eater and who the Feast,
Do they both succumb succour another?
is that the refrain
Will that be the Only refrain?

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