Curate, connect, and discover
There are spiders outside my window,
They are hanging on their webs.
I know there are at least three,
Though one from my view ebbs.
They look as if they are floating,
Sat against the Belfast sky.
And here I sit and watch them.
My spider friends and I.
I have just seen a fourth one.
That’s one for every pane
Within my little window,
It’s like little picture frames.
Do you think they see me,
Looking at them all?
Do they wonder what I’m doing?
To them do I look tall?
Am I the only person,
That they have ever seen?
My room is on the third floor,
So where else could they have been?
I usually don't like Spiders,
But these onesa have made me think,
Have they seen me crying?
And do they know I think?
If they could write,
Do you suppose,
That they would write of me?
Some short songs or short prose,
That they had spun,
Like glorious webs
Born, like this poem,
From thoughts in their heads?
There are spiders outside my window.
Now I’ve counted five.
Do they know I watch them?
Do they know I’m alive?
But the thought that scares me most,
Terrifies me to no end,
Is that I think I see more spiders,
Then there are people I call ‘friend’.