A WEB OF DECEIT

This web of exquisite lace
the width of my palm,
bedewed,
in the soft gray dawn.
Strung from point to point,
a beaded pearly delight,
oft times rendered invisible
until a blade of light.
Then it shimmers into view
like an optical illusion,
this formidable work
of tedious concision.
But do not be fooled
by its fragile innocence,
for it portends death
to a lingering winged one.

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