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Weave

Weave, weave, weave...
from the moment sun burns night
and rays pull strings of your work,
cover marvle branches with silk breaths

Weave, weave, weave...
even though frigid winds rip your threads
with sharpened claws of iced envy
and sprawl them like discarded autumn mists

Weave, weave, weave...
although your onyx needles quiver,
the sultry air sucking your life with a kiss,
extracting tiny, pearly beads of sweat.

Weave, weave, weave... sweet Arachne
beyound the coal night with diamond stars
until lands, medows, forests and mountains
subjugate and lay defeated, ensnared in the beauty of your webs

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