Web

When you're making

A heavy choice,

Do you feel pain

Within your voice?

When the path

Is so torn and twisted,

You just want to run

To a field you've missed—

Where the flowers bloom,

Maybe daisies grow,

Or perhaps where spiders

And insects go.

They crawl and flutter,

While butterflies drift

Right into the web — a deceiving gift.

And perhaps the butterfly

Longs to fly,

But the threads grow tighter,

No strength to try.

The spider grins

So cold, so sly—

Its final strike

Will last through time.

Her wings still beat

In helpless plea...

But no one knows

How to set her free.

March 14, 2025

by Mary Arne

(Translated from Russian)