The web is stretched.
Clinging to the railing,
held fast by barely visible threads.
There is beauty there
in the intricate, delicate design,
highlighted by the morning dew.
Beauty, but not perfection.
Ragged bits, torn apart
by bugs providing sustenance;
by sticks blown in by the wind;
by careless people walking past.
Beauty marred by daily life.
Awaiting its creator
to repair it;
to make it whole.
