The Afterlife of Spiders

You shall wear eight wings in arachnid heaven

and your web will be made from celestial harp strings

attuned to the choir fantastic.

Starlight shall guide your mandibles,

aphids will be angels in attendance

as banquets of golden insects are brought 

for your everlasting pleasure.

Spider saints weave holy webs 

of tapestries and swaddling nests

for your forever rest.

Crystalline church bells be blessed

with the filligree of your spinning

and eight-legged symphonies be

sung for all time onward.

Let spun silk be gold and silver,

hung down in eternal sunbeams,

for the power of the one glorious

all knowing webmaster.