by Brenna Smith
Rest now, my friend,
Your labor is done.
Your last fly is caught.
Your last web is spun.
Your eight legs which moved
With such agile grace
Will now be content
To rest in one place.
You lived well, and were
What God made you to be–
And now, in your death,
A lesson for me.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Brenna Smith is a writer, musician, and teacher born and raised in the Skagit Valley of Washington State and currently based out of Fort Worth, Texas. Her two proudest accomplishments are being impossible to find in hide-and-seek and memorizing Lucky's entire speech from Waiting for Godot.
Last updated April 11, 2025