The Spider

Though February fog is quite depressing,
A spider's web is very refreshing.
For sparkling like diamonds
Are drops of rain,
Caught in wefts of gossamer grain.
The web is crafted
Like God's snowflake,
A pattern of riches,
About to break.
And spider himself,
Where is he ?.
Gobbling flies in vanity.
In intricate beauty,
It's his temple.
Spider of industry,
Doing his duty.
Black and ugly
Is his cover,
Tracing threads
Of a lover.
For all the wonder
In his web,
Tells of beauty,
Which doesn't ebb.