Sun drenched bars

as spiders fight, at first glance,

for supremacy

in the shadow of the daily play,

a weaved take, strands of Old England,

forever gone, but the dusty John

lives on, Mistress Page and the leaf

she breathed life within, can still be found

in the ragged and witch like May Queen’s

realm, spiders by the Stratford banks

not fighting,

on closer inspection, the female

was attempting

the art of wooing, unsuccessful,

as the male only wanted to live

in the shade.