This delicate hangs in morning light,
suspended in some spider’s spun delight,
a wispy statement of fragile beauty,
from some web-based arachnid cutie.
This dead was laid upon a lava shore,
upended by the ocean’s roar;
’twas sturdy structure, now skeletal wood,
struck down by nature because it could.
The delicate and the dead are opposites in nature,
like Libs and Cons in a legislature.
If men could do anything and make it last,
some other men would squelch it fast.
That’s just the way it is in this world,
like a flag that’s furled and then unfurled.
It’s just a worldly fact: and then it goes back,
and then it goes back.