Silver Web

Dear Granny's voice held flute-tones bright as dawn,

"Call not the spider's weaving gray, my child,

But a shining silver web an artist styled.

Come, you must put my star-rimmed glasses on

To see a crocus thrusting through the clod;

A lilac blossom with an April breeze

Light-dancing a ballet; view emerald seas

Of meadows daisy-crested, not mere sod."

A silver web of beauty! Granny's art

I came to understand. As years sped swift

The common place illumed when I would lift

My eyes and see with vision of the heart.

To Granny's garden walled by crumbling stone

I have returned, and through nostalgic tears

I view the silver web spun by the years

For I have star-rimmed glasses of my own.