In nature’s grand design, we find a curious fusion,
Where normal is an illusion, a tantalizing delusion.
A spider weaves, its web with pride.
But what is normal for the spider’s intricate dance,
Is chaos to the fly, caught in its fatal trance.

In webs of gossamer, the spider weaves its art,
Crafting silken snares with a cunning, patient heart.
In the webs so dark, where secrets hide,
To it, this is the rhythm of life, the daily chore,
Yet to the fly, it’s a perilous path they can’t ignore.

The spider, with patience and precision, does prepare,
A masterpiece of deception, a labyrinthine snare.
It waits for the prey to feel the bite,
For what is customary to its eight-legged stride,
It is a world of bewilderment for the fly trapped inside.

In the spider’s world, it’s a masterpiece of grace,
Intricate patterns spun with silk strands like lace.
the stillness of morning light, the web weaved at night,
to the unsuspecting fly, it’s a bewildering maze,
where normalcy dissolves in a deadly, cryptic haze.

So remember, as we navigate this intricate dance,
What’s normal to one may be another’s happenstance.
To the fly, the spider’s normal is a treacherous snare,
In the complexity of life, our perceptions often vie,
Normal is an illusion, and reality is a shifting sky.

Just like the spider and the fly, we too may find,
That what’s ordinary to one may confound the mind.
Wherein we meet a fate, like the fly, dire, even unfair.
To the fly, normalcy is a snare, a deathly dance,
In nature’s game, they never had a chance.