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Rated: · Poetry · Animal · #1727424
When a house is a home.
Tranquillity.
In a transient sigh of daybreak
When nocturnal labours cease
At the first launch of morning.
The spider secretes to wait
Behind a cove in the eaves.
Her energy spent.
The filigreed silk embroidery
Of her home
Laced
With dew beads
Suspended, opalescent pearls
Borrowed from the oyster
Of dawn.
This is the translation - the language of nature.
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