The web you weave caught hapless fly,
but now that I am grown, I spy
the trickery in every strand,
the feeding frenzy Evil planned;
so – no thanks. Invitations sent
are recognized; their true intent
has been exposed, so say good-bye
to feeding on this wary fly…
To catch the sun, you lay a trap
of steel in dark of deadly night.
Add some bait, perhaps a scrap
of lightning from a stormy flight;
as she mounts horizon’s hill,
the sun will spy allurement there,
cunningly, of her free will,
she’ll glow with joy and trip the snare.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 