Sparkatale

The Padded Room

Be it alone, little spider

Making a web over my vision

Creating a new writer

A writer of thoughts incision

In snow all around me

Nothing green or gray

Save for fractured web

You made for today

Be it silent, little spider

You are a visitor to me

The only one to think

I exist, so may it be

The others do not know

They don't see this roughness

I am not to be fixed

Or sold in the stillness

Be it wrapped, little spider

Warm cloths keep cold away

For the snow is hard and cruel

It melteth not this day

White branches I am perched

As birds sing in my head

The light still bright, little spider

Yet time to go to bed.