The spider in the shadows

The broom stood idle by the door that day, A dusty sunbeam cutting through the haze. I saw him then, upon the wall at bay, A tiny weaver in the morning's glaze. He’d built his web within the shadowed place, A fragile castle in the room's still keep. And I, the giant, with a troubled face, Had watched him spin while I had lain asleep. He never knew the purpose of my tread, The heavy footfalls shaking all his thread. Perhaps he thought I brought him daily bread, A gentle tremor, softly overhead. I swatted him, a reflex born of fear, An uninvited guest within my keep. And left him crumpled, silent, lying near The corner where the shadows lie so deep. Now in the quiet, I can only guess, What thoughts, like silken threads, he might have spun. Did kindness shine within his beady eyes? Or did he see me as the setting sun?