The Old Man And His Muse Poem by Sandra Martyres
The Old Man And His Muse
Lying inert on his creaking bed
The old man entertained himself
Watching a spider spinning a web
The little creature deftly moved
From mirror to ceiling weaving
Long almost invisible lines of mesh
An hour later its web was ready
With several tiny insects trapped
Within its very delicate precincts
The old man smiled like King Bruce
He too was impressed by the spider
Its determined and indomitable spirit
Each time it slipped or fell, undeterred
It went back to its job on hand quietly
Following its ' never say die" philosophy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 4:23:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
i could see her sitting by... knitting needles in hand with knotted gnarled painful fingers knitting a sweater...slowly painstakingly doing the stitches and picking em again as she lost a few in the process... its very often difficult to read the poets context...but it made for a lovely read...steeped in silent appreciation and care that old age so requires, thanx sandra fab poem there :)