In the quiet hours of the darkened night,
Spiders weave their webs so tight,
Silken threads in moon’s soft light,
Crafting art, a wondrous sight.

In corners hidden from our gaze,
They spin their tales in secret ways,
Architects of nature’s maze,
Their patience never sways.

Each strand a story, each line a dream,
They work in shadows, unseen they seem,
A dance of eight, a silent team,
In the stillness, they gleam.

Spiders teach us through their art,
That even in the quiet, we leave our mark,
With persistence, from the start,
We too can weave a work of heart.