The pollen-laden meadows ripple, The seas of grass on hedgerows lap; While clouds and swarms of insects wing, Arachnid waits within her trap. She'll hang so still and patiently, This summer's day her time will come; When tired and lazy meadow fly Will blindly find the orb she's spun. And so to dark, as insects roost, To hide away from cooler air; Arachnid labours half the night, To spin and weave, and make repairs. And with the dawn, and early dew, Arachnid's orb of silk will shine; But soon returns invisible, To trap the lazy meadow fly.