A poem attributed to Fisher. "My friend, this is not the placeThe cut flowers lie scattered on the pathAnd the light of the moon glistensIn what the stems bleedIn the day just for ever lostI watched a black wasp darting into the faceOf a web, and the spider she droppedOnly to be caught in mid-airFootfalls leave no traceIn the wake of a hungry creature's wrathYou can only lie in hope, dreamingShe lightly touched groundAnd danced away like a breathHiding beneath leaves nodding in placeWhile the hunter circles and listensBut pray nothing is foundMy friend, this is not your faceSo pale and still never again to laughWhen the moon's light fell and then stoppedCold as silver in the gladeLook back on the day, it's for ever lostStare into the night, where things confoundThe web stretches empty, win