(A letter to Katharine, from the King Edward Hotel, Toronto)
The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unwinds a thread of her devising,
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising.
And all the journey down through space,
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted,
She builds a ladder to the place
From which she started.
Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do,
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.
— E. B. White