I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, <br />On a white heal-all, holding up a moth <br />Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth -- <br />Assorted characters of death and blight <br />Mixed ready to begin the morning right, <br />Like the ingredients of a witches' broth -- <br />A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, <br />And dead wings carried like a paper kite. <br /> <br />What had that flower to do with being white, <br />The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? <br />What brought the kindred spider to that height, <br />Then steered the white moth thither in the night? <br />What but design of darkness to appall?-- <br />If design govern in a thing so small.<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/design/
