As the slender spiders web moved in the gentle breeze

Two Americans stood beneath it

For it was constructed high  

And admired the intricate workmanship of the spider

 

They had tried to buy a watercolour

In a nearby shop

But as they pondered

It was stolen from them

 

A fly is trapped within the web

And the visitors ask the insect

Whether it is aware of its own mortality

The fly does not answer

As it is enjoying the late afternoon light

 

The creature I am told died in ecstasy a few hours later

 

The spider is not guarding its web

It has left Marlborough for good

There was no reason for its departure

 

Some say that it never existed in the first place

And that its web was a work of fiction