I will be yelled at for a foolish risk

Each time I clamber up the drystone wall

it’s an adventure felt deeply inside,

my feet aren’t certain they won’t let me fall,

and the rough limestone threatens my soft hide.

Here as the sun sets and the day is done 

I find great horror where a spider’s spun 

the thinnest silver thread with drops of dew

enough to make it visible in air.

I smile at noticing the pretty new 

when I should be moving back in fear.

I miss the indication I should run.

I find great horror where a spider’s spun 

a web of thinnest, brightest polished steel,

with oddest creatures taken in its hold.

I am too scared to retreat or to flee 

although I feel my arteries turn cold.

Irrationally, I think I  need a gun:

I find great horror where a spider’s spun.

Then when I catch sight of the arthropod 

I can’t forebear from emitting a scream

of invocation to an absent god

as I discover this is not a dream.

Reality I can’t afford to shun:

I find great horror where a spider’s spun.

From deep inside I raise sufficient fire 

to move straight backwards from this shining trap.

This action is far less than I require, 

and I am now full as latrine with crap.

I watch the spider a strange monster stun,

I find great horror where a spider’s spun.

When I seek for an answer there is none,

I find great horror where a spider’s spun.