This is a poem from the perspective of a spider I found with my flashlight while camping.

Upon a twig I softly sway
where silver moonlight threads the hay.
The crackling flame hums low and deep
and wakes me from my forest sleep.

I weave between the moss and dew
content to watch the night pass through.
The air is sweet with ember’s breath
a dance of life that hums of death.

But then… Oh hush! A beam of white
cuts through the calm and breaks the night.
Two eyes, like lanterns, search the glade
and I, small watcher, shrink in shade.

What curious beast with hands of flame
has wandered here and not to maim?
He builds his warmth, he sips, he sings
he stirs the stars with gentle things.

I freeze upon my silken thread
half fear, half awe, inside my head.
Yet when his light falls close to me
I see not wrath, but mystery.

He looks, he smiles, a fleeting grace
a kindness soft upon his face.
No hunter’s heart behind those eyes
just wonder mirrored in the skies.

The woods blow calm, the fire sighs
and I, still trembling, realize
perhaps this giant, wrapped in glow
is friend, not foe, as embers show.

So down I creep, both shy and small
to feel the warmth that lights us all.
He does not stir; he lets me near
and peace replaces every fear.

The night resumes its gentle spin
and I, the spider, breathe it in.
For once beneath the silver spire
we shared the same and sacred fire.