The dewdrops glisten on each strand,
While she waits for a lover to take her hand.
The widow weaves her web of gold
That waits for many tales to be told.

Tales of woe, of lies and deceit.
She baits the lover she plans to eat.
Up the strands, unwittingly climbs the mate,
Unaware of the deadly date.

She lets him have his way with her,
Enthralled in passion on strands of luster.
All the while she's spinning her thread,
And pretty soon her mate will be dead.

The dewdrops glisten on each strand,
As she waits for another to take her hand.
The widow weaves her web of gold,
That waits for another tale to be told. ~Doc~