Garden Path

Nature, insects never give up

Every morning I knock one down;
Tomorrow there will be a new strand.
Fail, strung before my face across my path,
A single silky string stretches
From thorny hedge to the azalea bushes.

My garden path is laced together by spiders,
Nightly they swing across the space
Spinning their silk in great lengths
To wrap my face and hair
With invisible ropes that wekly bind.

I try to remember to sweep the air
With a stick or my arm to clear the snare.
Discouraged? Not these spiders.
They tenaciously try again at night.
To trap something in that path is their plight.