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