Whirring and spinning, the silken threads
Out of my anus, with artistry cunningly
Tidy, concentrical, tasteful, and elegant,
Falling and climbing from heights that are stunningly
Bold for my stature, I weave a new domicile:
Temple of order, like words from the seraphim
Knit into fine nets to catch up the fluttering
Souls for the Lord who's sustained on their love of Him.
I am an angel, exemplar of piety;
My house is holy, and artfully intricate,
Binding, hypnotic: the senses enticingly
Beckon to touch my work, fragile and delicate.
Come and pay homage unto the Creator whose
Love of the beautiful shines in my tapestry;
Golden-winged creature of fine and rare breeding. Come
Hither, my butterfly! Hither to me!
George Chadderdon © 1996