As I wandered through midnight Oxford streets
Shimmered gold from lamps and warm dorm room view
Drizzle caught in an auric glow inspired
Beaded crystals on absent cobweb: dew
That should’ve collapsed the whole damn thing there
Yet somehow it clung valiantly on
Lost by an automatic step unplanned
It still quivers in my mind’s morning song.
It haunts me in its fragility that night
Shivering against a Novembered torrent
How many evenings has it weathered in golden light?
To how many has it been forgotten?
I wonder if the weaver will survive longer than its home?
Immortality comes not in cobweb, but in gold tinged stone.
Image Credit: Isabella Lill
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