A silky thread hangs from the ceiling,

And spirals toward the ground.

To some it brings an eerie feeling,

Yet maketh not a sound.

A critter of dusk, of black, of night;

Eight legs, and same-numbered eyes.

This creature to humans 'oft bringeth fright,

While it ensnares the small insects and flies.

Ever spinning, ever weaving, never does it cease.

While it's crawling up the walls, never has it peace.

To and fro on unknown quests; scorned and shunned by man,

The spider's work never rests, but shows where e'er it can.