A velvety spider, hung by a silver thread,
Too tiny, tender, shiny, and red.
Swings up and down, like a yo-yo,
Sometimes too fast and sometimes too slow.
And when the sunrays fall blandly,
The silver thread’s visible but faintly.
Making the spider move in ‘Brownian-movement’
Giving its viewers, a great amusement.
Tiny creature, on still tinier, is fed,
On tiny leaves and flowers, is bred.
Immensely innocent, yet a little-wild,
This is how, is the nature’s child.
No comments :
Post a Comment