Spider sold a fortune in pearls one day,
While cast in the light of the morning sun,
Went skipping down the old town’s side streets,
Checking on the progress of last evening’s rain,
Those splashes in its passing made quite an impression,
On all those someones whose grief claimed a boon,
Making some few unable to speak their mind,
Waiting for the sudden shock of recognition,
From one of equal thought and past experience,
Living within one’s self in relative seclusion,
Anticipating some shadowed chance realisation,
Threw open the shutters and stood staring,
Glimpsing nothing so spectacular as absent passers by,
Still therein did something fascinating often rest,
Seldom disclosed to any simple exercise of reason,
All the things of passion brought quickly to life,
Out from among a more passive multitude,
Held in disbelief and no small measure of possession,
Turned back to pace the house’s many rooms,
While weaving one more web of thoughtfulness,
Into a crystal etched mirror of redirection,
Remembering a history of fleeting anticipation,
Lost within a framework of insistent uncertainties,
A younger soul stands balanced on the edge of maturity,
Caught between abandon and manoeuvred direction,
Every whisper an example of life’s unique passage,
Holding an urgent appeal for singular attention,
In quick succession of years lived unquestioned,
Scattered images of innocence lie neatly buried,
Trapped by faith in a world of impressions,
Waiting for chance to inspire recollection,
Fled up the stairs to pass the night under cover,
Among all those disjointed dreams of resurgence,
Woke to discover such thoughts unforgotten,
Through connected moments of simple discovery,
Strolled out of doors with old secrets in hand,
As the moon paid its final respects to the night,
Moved by the strains of a chorus foreshadowed,
Spider put each of life’s fragments in place.