BROTHERS.
Spider, At my window spinning. Weaving oircles wider, wider, From the deft beginning.
Running Rings and spokes until you Build your silken death-trap cunning, Shall I catch you, kill you ?
Sprawling, Eimble, ehrewd as Ciroo, Death's your only aim and calling, Why should you have mercy P
Strike thee ? Not for rapine wilful, Man himself is too much like thee Only not bo skilful.
Rife In Theo lives our Creator, Thou'rt a shape to hold a life in, I am nothing greater.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW18910312.2.146
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 1933, 12 March 1891, Page 29
Word Count
83BROTHERS. Otago Witness, Issue 1933, 12 March 1891, Page 29
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