The runner who
                                    Sweeps the cobwebs,
                                    On the paths through the woods,
                                    Before the dawn comes,
                                    Is on vacation.

                                    So the feathery,
                                    Sticky lines,
                                    Hit my face as
                                    I walk through the daylight woods.

                                    I held a twiggy
                                    Branch aloft,
                                    In front of my face today,
                                    To clear them for myself.

                                    My how it changed
                                    My view of the woods.
                                    It was like looking,
                                    Through a cracked
                                    Window pane.

                                    Every vista fractured
                                    By scraggy lines.
                                    But then my face
                                    Was protected and free of webs.

                                     I will be glad when
                                    The dashing cobweb sweeper,
                                    Returns to the forest.

                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                               July 2014
                                                               (revised October 2014)