The Web in the Dragon’s Den

In the far, forgotten caves

where silver moss in silence grows,

and gold coins sleep in ancient piles

beneath the peaks of winter snows —

A dragon breathes his smoky dreams,

his eyelids heavy, slow and deep.

He stirs but once in seven days,

then coils again and dives in sleep.

And in the corner, by the stones,

where fire-light can barely gleam,

a spider spins a world alone —

thin silk upon a dragon's dream.

He builds his threads with patient grace,

no rush, no fear, no need to run.

For dragons guard, but do not chase

what doesn’t try to touch the sun.

Each morning, as the embers sigh,

he adds a loop, a spiral line.

The web becomes a painted sky

where dewdrops shape a map divine.

The dragon knows. He does not speak.

He watches with a glowing eye.

He lets the little spider seek

a masterpiece that will not die.

So tucked in stone and dragon’s breath,

where heroes come and meet their end,

a spider builds — defying death —

and finds in stillness his best friend.