A spider clings to web it flings,
Launching forth its filament;
A spider thus suspends from air,
Isolated, twirling, its fabric ductile as wire,
Sustains its weight,
Its patient gait,
Within it has all that it needs.

And you, O soul, you search for life to hold onto,
Caught in webs so finely spun,
For place that makes you feel like you,
O soul, break from this mesh to spin your own
So that when you’re old and grown,
You’ll have a web, beautiful art,
You have a life to live, so start.