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Warning To All Flying Insects!
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 ai...
Tuesday 7th October 2014 2:46 pm
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