Dewy Cobweb

From one sticky thread (small beginnings)
The spider keeps twisting his spinnings
Till a cobweb is spun,
Wherein flies are undone,
So the spider can trouser his winnings.

poem © Celia Warren 2011

This limerick first appeared online here.

Thick fog this morning and no signs of it lifting! Where's this heatwave we were promised? I mean, it's not exactly cold, but ... it's not an Indian summer! (Yet.)