Stopping By Chance On A Webby Evening (A Fly Ponders The Mysteries Of Fate) Poem by Paul Kesler

Whose web this is I think I know.
The spider’s on a pillage though;
He will not see me frozen here
Until the time seems apropos.

That bird up there must think it weird
To see how fast I disappeared
Between her branch and this damn web –
Why, she must think I’ve stripped my gears.

She flaps her feathers, spreads her wings
And tidies up her apron strings;
She feeds her younglings, just a few,
And doesn’t care what spiders do.

This web is yucky, white and thin,
One helluva shroud to get stuck in.
I came for lunch and stayed to die.
Now I’m part of the spider’s pie.