Daintily Spun

by sugarcoatedprincess

The little lead threaders,
Guide a glistening trail,
In canopies of conifers,
And by the winds do sail.

Finding friendly forests,
To spend their spinning time,
And raise their rabble rightly,
They burden up and climb.

When wishing to weave webs,
One must muse and, often,
Practice placement perilously,
Or you fall to coffins.

Hurry hairy hillets,
Three two-legs are a-come,
Not a ninth of those neat ninnies,
Would love to see you some.

Dainty damsels do delight,
In shrilly screaming out,
Beneath branches of the birches,
As spiders creep about.