He always used to feed me,
But then I found too many pounds,
And now he doesn't need me.
Photo © Dawn Allynn
Words are woven
By writers hands
In gossamer silken
Spider strands,
Smiles of joy
And tears of grief
Are caught within
This artists weave.
The soul is painted
In all it's hues,
Crafted by
This poets muse,
In these fragile,
Silken skeins,
You'll find you're in
My Web of Dreams.
~Dawn Allynn
1999
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