Many years before he wrote Charlotte’s Web, E. B. White wrote this poem as a love letter to his wife.
There is so much I would like to say about this poem, but I won’t dare.
I’ll be adding this to my list of things that make me happy.

The Spider (aka Natural History)

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

. . . . . . . . . .