Silver-spun cells of gossamer thought,
threaded on breeze-blossoms, skilfully wrought;
whispers of whirlwind, fairy-frost food,
share your sweet secret – how do you stay glued?
Delicate membranes with hearts on your sleeve,
barely there brainstorm, a brittle-crisp weave –
filmy exquisite, in raiment of lace,
what holds you together while running your race?
How ironic that such beauty is to be found in the weak places…can it be that we, in our humanity, in our very fragility, are beautiful?