The Magic-Weaver

The magic-weaver sits quietly
In a secluded glade.
Steeling herself for the spell ahead,
Slowly, she rises
And begins her work.

First, the base.
A delicate web of power—
But stronger than steel,
Blowing fibers catch the light,
Setting the stage for a true wonder.

Now, the actual magic begins.
She spins threads of the thinnest gold,
Every one imbued with enchantment,
Carefully weaving through
To create a nest of the purest magic.

The spider sits in the center of her web,
Her work finally done.