I like ecology as a subject.
However, its intricacies are legion and complex.
So I limit myself to ecology at a mundane level.
Tangled Webs
The spider is weaving
Its gossamer twine,
It glints in the rays
Of the lovely sunshine.
The flies may be heaving
As they end their days,
Soft hearts may be grieving
And it’s folly that pays.
For spiders must dine,
It’s done with no hate,
So, everything’s fine;
It’s all down to Fate.
The thrush eats the spider
From out of its web,
But, there’s no decider
All’s flow and all’s ebb.
As a hawk kills the thrush,
So, the hawk too will die
Now who’s in a rush
To understand why.
New spiders are weaving
Their gossamer twine;
They glint in the rays
Of sweet lovely sunshine.
Spiders and thrushes and hawks must be fed,
Yet, all in the end go on to be dead.
© Trevor Morgan 30 January 2018