In the corner of a silent room,
Where moonlight spills its silver bloom,
A spider weaves with tender grace,
A mother’s love in every trace.

Her web –  a cradle, soft yet strong,
She hums her heart in silent song,
Each silken thread, a whispered prayer,
For little lives that flutter there.

She waits through nights, so cold and deep,
While tiny dreams beside her sleep,
Her fragile legs, though worn with care,
Still hold the world She chose to bear.

The dawn will come, her babies will go,
Across the wind, the world, the woe–
Yet not a tear will stain her face,
Just empty strands and quite space.

For love is not in what we keep,
But what we guard, then let go free,
And in the web, so faint, so small,
A mother’s heart outshines them all.